THE 

MORTAL 
G  O_D  S 

OLIVE    TILFORD 
DARGAN      ^ 


JH 


BOOKS    BY    OLIVE    TILFORD    DARGAN 

PUBLISHED    BY    CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS 

THE  MORTAL  GODS  and  Other  Plays.  izmo,  net,  $1.50 
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THE    MORTAL    GODS 
AND     OTHER     PLAYS 


THE    MORTAL    GODS 

AND 

OTHER    PLAYS 

BY 
OLIVE    TILFORD    DARGAN 


NEW   YORK 

CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS 
1912 


Copyright,  1912,  by  Charles  Scribner's  Sons 
All  rights  reserved 

Published  November,  1912 


CONTENTS 

THE    MORTAL    GODS  1 

A    SON    OF    HERMES  107 

KIDMIR  221 


4^9947 


THE   MORTAL   GODS 
A  PLAY  IN  FOUR  ACTS 


CHARACTERS  OF  THE  PLAY 


HUDIBRAND,  King  of  Assaria 
HERNDA,  his  daughter 
CHARTRIEN,  a  Prince  of  Assaria 
BORDUC,  Prime  Minister 
COUNT  DORKINSKI,  Court  Chamberlain 

CORDIAZ,  King  of  Goldman 

MEGARIO,  Governor  of  Peonia,  a  province  of  Goldusan 

REJAN  LfiVAL,  a  revolutionist 

SENORA  ZIRALAY,  his  sister 

ZIRALAY 

RUBIREZ 

GOLIFET 


MAZARAN 
GUILDAMOUR 


MASIO 

GARZA 

GONZALO 

YSOBEL 

GRIJA 

COQURIEZ 

IPARRO 


nobles  of  Goldusan 


of  Megario's  hacienda 


Guests,  officers,  musicians,  peons,  &c. 

TIME:  Begins  February,  1911 
PLACE:  Assaria;  Goldusan 


ACT  I 

SCENE:  A  vast  room  in  the  palace  of  Hudibrand.  As  the 
curtain  rises  the  place  is  in  darkness  save  for  a  cir- 
clet of  gold  apparently  suspended  in  mid-air  near  the 
centre  of  the  room.  As  the  light  increases,  the  outline 
of  a  man's  figure  becomes  distinguishable,  and  the  cir- 
clet is  seen  to  be  resting  on  his  head.  Gradually  the 
rim  of  gold  fades  to  invisibility,  while  the  figure  of  the 
man  and  the  contents  of  the  room  become  clear  to  the 
eye.  The  man  might  be  mistaken  for  an  American  citi- 
zen in  customary  evening  dress.  He  is  Hudibrand. 

At  the  left  are  two  entrances,  upper  and  lower.  Rear,  left, 
large  windows.  The  wall  rear  makes  a  right  angle  about 
centre,  the  apex  of  which  is  cut  off  by  a  window.  Right 
of  centre  the  room  seems  to  extend  endlessly  rearward, 
and  is  arranged  to  suggest  an  upland  grove  in  the  deli- 
cate, venturing  days  of  spring.  The  ground,  rising  a 
little  toward  right,  is  covered  with  winter  moss  and  tufts 
of  short  silvered  grass.  The  trees  are  young  birch, 
slight  maples  in  coral  leaf,  cornel  in  flower,  and  an  oc- 
casional dark  foil  of  cedar.  A  brooklet  ripples  down 
the  slope  and  off  rear.  Birds  chirp  and  flit,  and  now 
and  then  a  breeze  stirs  the  grove  as  if  it  were  one  tender 
body.  The  lights  are  arranged  to  give  the  effect  of  night 
or  day  as  one  wishes. 

It  is  winter  without,  the  climate  of  Assaria9s  capital  city 
being  similar  to  that  of  New  York. 

Double  doors  lower  right,  through  which  Count  Dorkinski 
enters  to  Hudibrand. 

3 


•A;  THE    MORTAL    GODS 

<cra    c'^'     f<"    c      c'     'T  «      'V<     ,        ' 

Dor.  Your  majesty,  Sir  Borduc  has  arrived. 

Hudi.  Hot-shod.     We'll  let  him  cool. 

Dor.  Where  shall  he  wait, 

My  lord? 

Hud.  His  usual  corner.     Keep  him  off 
My  Delhi  rug. 

[Exit  Dorkinski] 
Poor  Bordy's  fuming  ripe. 

[Re-enter  the  Count] 

Dor.  His  Excellency  calls,  your  majesty. 

Hud.  Which  Excellency?    They  are  thick  as  hops. 

Dor.  The  Governor  of  Peonia. 

Hud.  In  time  and  tune. 

We'll  see  him  here. 

[Exit  Dorkinski] 
A  pawn  of  mine  who'd  push 
Beyond  his  square,  and  I  must  humor  him 
'Neath  meditative  thumb. 

[Enter  Megario] 

Hud.  Welcome,  Megario. 

M eg.  I've  travelled  far 

To  press  your  hand. 

Hud.  We  made  appointment  here, 

Knowing  your  visit  to  Assaria  touched 
Nothing  of  state  or  office. 

Meg.  [Accepting  his  cue]  Nothing,  sir. 

[Looks  about  him] 

I  thought  I  left  the  springtide  in  my  rear, 
Three  thousand  miles  or  so,  but  here  it  greets  me. 

Hud.  A  gimcrack  of  my  daughter's.     She  would  freak 
With  sun  and  time.     My  toyshop  has  no  walls. 
I  juggle  too  with  seasons,  climates,  zones, 
But  in  the  open  where  there's  warrior  room, 
And  startled  Fate  may  spring  against  my  will, 
Giving  an  edge  to  mastery  when  I  wrest 


THE    MORTAL    GODS  5 

The  whip  from  Nature,  turn  it  on  herself, 
And  set  her  elemental  slaves  to  filch 
Her  gold  for  me.     That,  friend,  is  play. 

M eg.  For  gods 

And  not  as  thief,  but  as  divinity, 
You  take  from  crouching  Nature. 

Hud.  Men  have  said 

I  pile  up  gold  because  its  glitter  soothes 
A  fever  in  my  eyes.     The  clacking  fools! 
I  am  no  Cheops  making  warts  on  earth. 
No  mummy  brain!     God  built  my  pyramids, 
Slaving  through  dark  and  chaos  till  there  rose 
My  iron-hearted  hills,  and  mountains  locked 
On  age-unyielded  treasure  waiting  me. 
There  slept  my  gems  till  longing  became  fire 
And  broke  the  grip  of  stone, — there  lay  my  gold, 
Re-purged  each  thousand  years  till  baited  Time 
Gave  up  the  master's  hour. 

[Hernda  has  come  from  the  grove  and  moves  up  to  his 
side] 

Her.  [Adoringly]  And  you  the  master! 

Hud.  Daughter,  you  owe  my  lord  Megario 
Some  pretty  thanks. 

Her.  I  give  them,  sir. 

Meg.  No,  no! 

I  pray  your  Highness,  no !     My  thanks  to  earth 
That  bears  the  flower  of  you,  and  to  the  light 
That  makes  my  eyes  your  beauty's  treasurer, 
But  thanks  from  you  to  me,  as  jewels  hung 
Upon  a  beggar's  neck,  would  set  my  rags 
Unkindly  in  the  sun. 

Her.  Then  I  am  not 

Your  debtor? 

M  eg.  Mine  the  debt,  that  mounts  too  fast 

For  feeble  payment  from  thin  purse  of  words. 


6  THE    MORTAL    GODS 

Ah,  every  moment  adds  a  suitor  hope 
To  th'  bankrupts  in  my  heart. 

Her.  I  fear,  my  lord, 

Your  coiner's  name  is  Fancy,  and  I  like 
Truth's  mintage  best.     [To  her  father] 

What  is  this  debt  of  mine, 
So  languished  that  a  word  of  thanks  may  be 
Its  slender  cover? 

Meg.  A  word,  if  beauty  speak  it, 

May  mantle  a  bare  world. 

Hud.                                His  Excellency 
Is  Governor  of  Peonia 

Her.  In  Goldusan! 

Hud.  And  smoothed  my  road  there 

Meg.  Nay,  your  majesty, 

My  aid  was  but  a  garnish  on  the  might 
That  moves  with  your  own  name. 

Hud.  Between  us  then, 

We  saved  my  holdings  through  a  bluster  there, 
And  what  they  brought  me  I've  tossed  here  to  make 
This  smile  on  winter. 

Meg.  What?     You  gave  her  all? 

Her.  How,  sir?     One  word  of  mine  would  robe  a  world, 
And  my  whole  self  not  worth  a  little  spot 
Twitched  from  Spring's  garment? 

Meg.  Oh,  I'd  grind  the  stars 

To  imperial  dust  that  you  might  trample  them, — 
But  this — this  was  a  fortune  I 

[To  Hudibrand]     Sir,  'tis  true 
You  care  not  for  the  gold. 

Hud.  I  care  for  it 

As  men  of  hero  times  held  dear  the  sword 
That  made  them  lords  of  battle. 

Her.  You  are  lord 

Of  Peace! 


THE    MORTAL    GODS 

M eg.  Write  that  upon  the  clouds,  that  eyes 
Of  men  and  angels  may  contending  claim 
The  truth  for  earth  and  heaven! 

Hud.  Tush,  sir,  tush! 

M  eg.  Can  I  forget  how  at  your  kingly  touch 
My  fair  Peonia,  paling  in  treason's  grip, 
Thrilled  from  her  deathward  droop,  renewed  her  heart 
Through  safe,  ease-lidded  nights,  and  woke  once  more 
The  rose  of  fortune? 

Hud.  There's  no  rumble  now 

Of  riot? 

Meg.  Not  a  sound  comes  to  our  ears 
But  from  the  toiling  strokes  that  steadily 
Uproll  Peonia's  wealth. 

Hud.  Yet  those  who  led 

The  last  revolt  are  free. 

M  eg.  Not  all,  your  Highness. 

A  few  crossed  to  Assaria,  but  expedition 
Warms  on  their  trail.     Rejan  LeVal  is  tracked 
To  your  own  capital. 

Hud.  Nay,  mend  that,  sir. 

We're  safe  here  from  such  ruck. 

Meg.  The  startled  eel 

Will  make  for  muddy  waters, — and  'tis  sure 
LeVal  found  murky  welcome  here. 

Hud.  My  city! 

What  mutinous  bolt  turns  here  for  him? 

Meg.  His  friends 

Are  friends  of  power.     How  else  could  he  elude 
The  thousand  eyes  in  search? 

Hud.  [Musing]  Treason  at  court?  .  .  . 

M  eg.  We'll  mouse  LeVal  to  's  cranny,  do  not  doubt. 
Then  we  shall  ask  Assaria's  great  seal 
For  his  delivery  to  Goldusan. 

Hud.  That  is  assured  you. 


8  THE    MORTAL    GODS 

M eg.  But  your  minister, 

Sir  Borduc,  warns 

Hud.  Ha!    Warns? 

M  eg.  He  urges  that 

The  extraditing  power  is  at  pause, 
Blocked  by  the  people's  will. 

Hud.  I've  given  my  word, — 

A  word  that  mobbish  din  ne'er  added  to, 
Nor  yet  stripped  of  one  letter  that  I  chose 
Should  spell  authority.     You  ask  for  more? 

M  eg.  Pardon,  your  majesty !     It  is  enough, 
Beyond  all  stretch  of  need. 

Hud.  I  call  to  mind 

That  Borduc  waits, — and  primed  for  tongue-work  too. 
The  princess  will  content  your  Excellency? 

Meg.  [With  obeisance  to  Hernda]  'Tis  Heaven's  honor! 
I  have  left  the  earth! 

Hud.  You  waste  your  art.     She's  in  the   milk-maid 

humor. 
Would  marry  Hob.     [Exit,  lower  right] 

Meg.  The  Senor  Hob?    He  says 
You'll  marry  him?     [Hernda  laughs] 

You  care  not  if  I  die! 

Her.  You'll  live,  my  lord. 

Meg.  You'll  marry  Hob.     I  die! 

Her.  He  is  not  Hob.    That  is  my  father's  mock 
Because  he's  poor. 

Meg.  [In  hope]  Ah,  poor? 

Her.  A  beggarly 

Ten  millions, — not  a  penny  more. 

Meg.  Ten  millions! 

Her.  But  that's  my  joy.     I  would  not  wed  for  gold. 

Meg.  O,  pity  me!     I  love  you,  senorita! 

Her.  No,  no !  'I  must  not  hear  that. 


THE    MORTAL    GODS  9 

M eg.  Then  I'll  pray 

Silence  to  be  my  friend  and  speak  my  dumb 
Unuttered  heart. 

Her.  You  must  not  love  me,  sir, 

But  you  may  love — my  father.     When  you  praised  him, 
You  too  seemed  fair  to  me. 

Meg.  I'll  sing  him  till 

The  stars  lie  at  our  feet,  if  you  will  listen ! 

Her.  He  gave  your  country  peace? 

Meg.  His  royal  name 

Is  dear  as  Cordiaz'  in  the  grateful  heart 
Of  Goldusan.     That  proud  land  lay  unkept, 
Her  ores  intombed,  her  vales  without  a  plough, 
Her  rivers  wasting  down  to  shipless  seas, 
Her  people  starving,  while  her  nobles  strove 
For  shreds  of  power, — the  clouted  thing  we  called 
A  government.     Then  on  our  factions  fell, 
Strong  as  a  god's,  the  hand  of  Hudibrand; 
And  now,  compact,  we  stand  by  Cordiaz, 
While  every  mountain  groans  with  golden  birth, 
And  every  river  turns  its  thousand  wheels, 
And  every  valley  buried  is  in  bloom. 

Her.  My  dearest  father!     But  I  knew  'twas  so! 
And  they  who  starved  are  fed  and  happy  now? 
They  reap  the  bloom  and  share  the  golden  flood? 

Meg.  All  will  be  well  when  once  we've  scourged  the  land 
Of  rebels  that  drip  poison  from  their  tongues, 
Stirring  the  meek  and  unambitious  poor, — 
Who  sought  no  life  but  saintly,  noble  toil, — 
With  strangest  rage,  till  maddened  they  would  bite 
The  fostering  hand  of  God. 

Her.  We've  prisons  where 

We  put  such  troublers.     Has  your  land  no  jails? 

Meg.  'Tis  full  of  them!     I  mean — ah,  we  have  jails, 
But  foes  like  these  are  wary,  slip  all  watch, — 


10  THE    MORTAL    GODS 

Flee  and  dart  back,  our  weariness  their  charter 
To  tread  with  havoc's  hoof.     If  I  could  find 
Rejan  LeVal,  then  might  I  rest  from  guard, 
But  not  while  he — unlassoed  warrigall ! — 
May  canter  from  his  thicket  and  paw  up 
Peonia's  fields! 

Her.  I'll  lend  an  adjutant. 

Ask  Chartrien,  who  knows  each  foggy  nook 
And  smirched  corner  of  the  capital, — 
Having  once  made  his  pastime  serve  a  quest 
For  such  drab  knowledge, — ask  him  help  you  find 
This  traitor. 

Meg.          Chartrien!     Nay,  the  fox  is  safe 
When  th'  hound  too  wears  a  brush. 

Her.  You  mean  the  prince? 

Speak,  sir!     Who  hints  me  calumny, 
Shall  make  the  drum  his  chorus.     I'll  hear  all. 

Meg.  A  rumor  drifts  through  Goldusan.  .  .  . 

Her.  Is  that 

An  oddity?    Here  rumors  are  too  thick 
For  ears  to  gather  them. 

Meg.  But  this — O,  princess.  .  .  . 
Fairest  of  earth,  forgive  me  that  I  speak! 

Her.  You  do  not  speak.     And  that  I'll  not  forgive. 

Meg.  Ah,  then, — but  first, — is  Chartrien  near  the  king? 

Her.  No  nearer  than  his  heart. 

Meg.  I  do  offend. 

Her.  Offence  now  lies  in  silence.     Speak,  my  lord. 

M eg.  When  I  left  Goldusan,  'twas  said — and  with 
No  muffled  hesitance — Prince  Chartrien  aids 
The  rebels  there,  and  lays  a  train  to  rend 
The  State  apart,  that  Cordiaz  may  drop 
Into  the  gap, — then  he  with  plausive  cleat 
Will  make  the  fissure  stanch,  and  seat  himself 
In  unoppugned  power. 


THE    MORTAL    GODS  11 

Her.  Why  he  is  Hob! 

[Silence.     They  both  rise] 
A  mad  and  sorry  tale,  you  see. 

Meg.  I  see. 

He's  in  the  capital? 

Her.  Beneath  this  roof. 

The  palace  is  his  home.     My  father  holds 
His  meagre  millions  guarded,  nursing  them 
To  a  prince's  portion. 

Meg.  We  shall  meet? 

Her.  To-night. 

He's  with  a  friend — a  Spanish  gentleman, — 
But  not  from  Goldusan. 

Meg.  I  made  no  guess. 

Her.  Deny  that  with  your  eyes.     Your  tongue's  ex- 
empt. 

Meg.  And  may  I  meet  the  Spanish  gentleman? 

Her.  That's  as  he  chooses.     I  may  not  command  him. 
[Re-enter  Count  Dorkinski] 

Dor.  His  Highness,  sir,  is  pleased  to  bid  you  join  him. 

Meg.  His  pleasure  is  his  marshal.     [To  Hernda,  softly] 

I've  your  leave 

To  love  your  father.     That  I  go  from  you 
To  him,  is  Heaven's  proof  I  do. 

[Exit  Megario  and  the  Count] 

Her.  The  proof 

I  seek,  and  would  not  find,  is  locked  in  Hell, 
Not  Heaven.     Megario  lied.     Oh,  Chartrien! 

[Retreats  slowly  into  grove  and  passes  out  of  sight,  rear. 
Enter,  upper  left,  Chartrien  and  LeVal] 

LeV.  No  — 

Cha.  Prudence,  dear  LeVal ! 

LeV.  I  shall  go  mad 

Shut  in  this  gilded  den, — this  stifling  hold 
Of  banditry. 


12  THE    MORTAL    GODS 

Cha.  Peace,  friend! 

LeV.  I'd  rather  crouch 

With  brats  of  grime  upon  an  unswept  hearth 
And  claw  my  bread  from  cinders,  than  draw  breath 
In  this  gold-raftered  house  of  blood! 

Cha.  Come,  come! 

Your  wits  fly  naked,  stripped  of  every  caution, 
And  beat  suspicion  up  that  else  might  keep 
Untroubled  bed.     Whist !     We  must  move  rose-shod 
Through  these  next  hours,  not  clack  in  passion's  clogs. 

LeV.  I'll  out  of  this!    There's  surge  in  me  no  fear 
Can  put  in  bonds. 

Cha.  Nay,  here  and  here  alone 

Your  life  is  safe.     The  hounds  of  Goldusan 
Sniff  through  the  cellars.     They'll  not  scent  you  in 
The  royal  shadow.     That's  more  brilliancy 
Than  ever  lit  a  rush  in  houndom.     This 
My  home,  I  share  with  you,  for  mine  it  is 
Till  I've  secured  my  gold  from  Hudibrand. 

LeV.  Ay,  but  Megario !     While  he's  here  these  walls 
Pen  me  in  fire. 

Cha.  His  visit  is  too  brief 

To  be  a  danger. 

LeV.  Danger!    To  me,  or  him? 

If  we  should  meet,  his  fate  as  mine  would  be 
In  that  encounter.     These  are  hands  would  see  to  't! 

Cha.  LeVal,  forget 

LeV.  Forget  Celeste?    My  wife? 

Forget  she  died  of  blows  while  he  stood  by 
And  smiled,  because  she  was  my  wife ! 
Oh,  God!    Breathe  air  with  him  while  this  arm  hangs 
A  limp  discretion! 

Cha.  Peace!    This  mood  unpent 

Will  wreck  us.     Keep  your  room  if  it  must  swell. 
The  princess  gazes  yonder,  and  your  face 


THE    MORTAL    GODS  13 

Is  badged  exposal.     Go.     I'll  meet  her  question. 
Twill  not  fash  honor  if  a  lie  or  two 
Must  be  our  guard. 

[Exit  LeVal  upper  left.  Hernda  emerges  from  grove. 
Chartrien  waits  for  her  as  she  comes  circuitously,  lightly 
hovering  and  hesitating] 

Her.  [At  his  side]  What  lover's  this? — dreams  still 
When  love  is  by.     Were  he  an  olden  knight 
He'd  ride  to  tourney  and  forget  his  spurs! 

Cha.  He  would  forget  the  world  and  fame  and  God 
To  see  your  eyes  like  this ! 

Her.  You  tremble,  Chartrien. 

Love  so  much? — yet  stood  here  just — a  stump — 

Cha.  That  felt  you  coming,  coming  like  a  bird, 
And  watched  and  waited,  envying  every  bough 
Where  you  paused  doubting,  till  you  fluttering  lit, 
Down  in  the  old  stump's  heart — 

Her.  There,  I've  forgot! 

This  is  my  lover  ere  that  lure  crept  up 
From  Goldusan.     Since  you  came  back,  I've  felt 
The  shadow  of  a  difference,  and  I've  heard 
The  maids  of  Goldusan  can  draw  men's  souls 
Out  of  their  bodies  for  a  dance  in  hell. 

Cha.  My  love! 

Her.                  O,  Chartrien,  are  you  mine?     I  feel 
A  question  in  your  worship.     When  your  eyes 
Are  warmest,  love  lies  on  them  like 
The  shallow  moon-gleam  on  a  deep,  dark  sea 
That  is  not  kin  with  it.     A  sea  that  once 
Was  mine,  and  I  could  go,  with  circling  arms, 
Love-lanterned  to  its  depth.     But  now  the  dark 
Is  round  me  fathomless 

Cha.  My  own! 

Her.                                                    I  try  to  rise, 
To  find  my  wings — and  feel  the  air  again 
Without  your  drowning  touch  upon  me 


14  THE    MORTAL    GODS 

Cha.  Hernda! 

Have  I  so  nearly  lost  you?     Come,  beloved, 
Sit  here,  and  let  me  vow  me  yours  again 
Till  in  each  word  you  feel  my  beating  heart. 

Her.  My  stars  shall  hear  these  vows. 

[Changes  the  light  to  pale,  evening  glow.  Rear,  right,  are 
glimpses  of  sky  with  frail,  moving  clouds,  faint  stars 
and  a  new  moon] 

And  see,  my  moon, 
Intent  and  virginal. 

[She  sits,  and  Chartrien  lies  on  the  ground,  his  breast  cov- 
ering her  feet] 

Now,  now  my  heart 
Holds  not  another  thing  but  love  and  you ! 

Cha.  No  thought  of  those  dread  wings? 

Her.  None,  none!    And  you? 

[Bends  over  him] 

All  mine.     I  hold  you  now,  fast  in  my  world. 
Sometimes  you  enter,  come  within  my  door, 
And  then  I  can  not  shut  it  for  a  wind 
That  clings  about  you  from  a  farther  sky. 

Cha.  [Rises  and  takes  her  face  between  his  hands]    There's 
but  one  sky ! 

Her.  A  shuddering  breath, 

As  from  a  planet  strange,  where  you  have  walked 
And  I  shall  never  go. 

Cha.  O,  shut  me  in, 

Rose  of  a  heart!     I'll  not  go  out  though  Life 
Beat  at  the  door,  and  call  her  giant  storms 
To  knock  upon  't. 

Her.  Is  this  not  life?     And  this 
The  only  world? 

Cha.  The  only  world.     My  habitat 

One  perfect  hour. 

Her.  One  hour?     Forever,  love. 


THE    MORTAL    GODS  15 

Cha.  O,  vow  it  for  me,  sweet, — again,  again! 
Till  I  believe  once  more  in  Arcadies 
Born  of  a  silken  purse.     In  sunsets  caught 
In  tinted  tapestries,  with  jacinth  heart 
Gold-bleeding  through  the  woven  breath  of  dream. 
In  soft  moon-hours  that  drop  from  painted  skies, 
In  fairy  woodlands  aye  unwintering, 
In  love's  elf-ring  no  boding  star  may  cross, 
And  you,  my  Hernda,  sceptred  in  joy's  name, 
Tossing  the  apple  planets  in  your  hands — 
These  little,  sovereign  hands — as  God  might  do, 
Had  he,  poor  God,  your  power. 

Her.  Love,  you  hurt. 

Cha.  Ah,  tears  in  Arcady? 

Her.  Oh,  what  is  this 

Has  come  between  us? 

Cha.  What?    The  universe. 

I  can  not  reach  you  even  when  my  lips 
Are  on  your  heart. 

Her.  May  I  not  come  to  you? 

Cha.  From  this  moon-world?     No  hope  of  that. 

Her.  See  then, 

The  day!  [Changes  the  light  to  sunrise] 
Now  may  I  come? 

Cha.  Forever  playing! 

The  way  lies  here. 

[Steps  to  window  and  opens  it.     A  snowy  blast  rushes  in] 

Her.  Stop,  Chartrien!     Shut  it!     Oh, 

You've  killed  my  Spring! 

Cha.  You  will  not  come? 

Her.  You're  mad. 

[Struggles  with  the  window  until  she  closes  it,  Chartrien 
watching  her] 

Cha.  You  do  not  like  that  road.     But  it  is  mine. 
And  children  walk  it.     I  have  met  them  there. 


16  THE    MORTAL    GODS 

Her.  Oh,  I  am  frozen !     See ! 

Cha.      [With  sudden  contrition,  pressing  her  to  his  breast] 

No,  you  are  fire. 

A  fire  that  I  will  clasp,  though  it  should  burn 
My  holiest  temple  and  betray  my  soul 
To  ashes! 

Her.      O,  my  love,  what  secret  curbs 
Your  nature  to  this  chafe?     It  rubs  even  through 
Your  ardor, — stabs  me  on  your  breast. 
May  I  not  know  it?     Is  not  confidence 
Dear  blood  and  life  of  love?     Without  it,  ours 
Must  pale,  ghost-cold,  a  chill  between  locked  arms. 

Cha.  Is  trust  not  love's  prerogative 
More  royal  sweet  than  any  burdened  share 
Of  secrecy? 

Her.         Not  to  the  strong! 

Cha.  [Smiling]  You  strong? 

By  what  brave  test  dost  know  it? 

Her.  And  by  what 

Dost  know  me  weak? 

Cha.  The  proof-  awaits.     But  now, — 

Emilio  needs  me, — 

Her.  Go! 

Cha.         Sweet,  friendship  too 
Has  bonds.     Not  all  are  love's. 

Her.  He's  ill,— your  friend? 

Cha.  As  plague-bit  life, — no  worse. 

Her.  You'll  wait  upon 

My  father?     Bid  him  but  good-night? 

Cha.  No,  Hernda. 

Her.  You  shun  him,  Chartrien.     I  have  watched  you 

keep 

A  curious  distance, — ay,  as  though  your  heart 
Removed  itself  while  your  unwarmed  eyes 
Made  invoice  of  its  treasure.     Once  you  rushed 


THE    MORTAL    GODS  17 

Unto  his  counsel  as  security 

Hived  in  his  word,  and  you,  denied,  were  lost. 

Are  those  hours  gone?     If  you  have  grown  too  large 

For  his  shrunk  wisdom,  bind  you  to  his  need. 

Age  unsuspected  crowns  him,  and  you  take 

Your  young  arm  out  of  his. 

Cha.  He  wants  no  staff. 

Her.  You'll  go  no  more  to  Goldusan? 

Cha.  I  must. 

Her.  And  soon? 

Cha.  When  Hudibrand  is  pleased  to  free 
My  fortune  from  his  ward. 

Her.  You  want  it  all? 

Cha.  Yes,  all. 

Her.  For  Goldusan? 

Cha.  My  greatest  need 

Is  there. 

Her.  What  is  that  need? 

Cha.  You  question  me? 

Her.  May  love  not  ask? 

Cha.  If  love  could  understand. 

Her.  Have  I  grown  dull?     I  do  not  know  you,  Chartrien. 
You're  so  unfeatured  by  that  Spanish  cloud, 
You're  lowering  friend.     He  is  the  universe 
Between  our  hearts.     111?     No.     I  saw  him  here, — 
A  tropic  threat.     'Twas  rage  broke  his  suave  guard, 
Not  illness. 

Cha.  Hernda! 

Her.  The  Lord  Megario 

Has  asked  to  compliment  a  brother  guest. 
May  he  be  seen?     Does  his  unmannered  storm 
Spare  one  amenity? 

Cha.  Megario  knows? 

Her.  Knows  what? 

Cha.  Oh!— nothing. 


18  THE    MORTAL    GODS 

Her.  So  much  more  than  naught 

Your  cheek  is  pale  with  it. 

Cha.  No  matter,  Hernda. 

Her.  An  ashen  matter  truly,  yet  not  light 
As  nothing.     But  your  answer.     May  our  guests 
Exchange  the  roof -tree  greeting? 

Cha.  No. 

Her.  Why  not? 

That  "no"  trails  consequence.     It  can  not  be 
Your  period. 

Cha.  They  are  enemies. 

Her.  I  knew! 

Cha.  Megario  dealt  my  friend  a  bitter  wrong, — 
The  foulest  wrong  that  man  may  put  on  man. 

Her.  He's  loyal  to  my  father.     I  know  that 
Of  him, — and  of  Emilio — nothing. 

Cha.  Sweet, 

I  beg  one  day! 

Her.  One  day?     What's  hatching  here 

That's  one  day  short  its  time? 

[Enter,  lower  right,  Hudibrand,  Megario,  and  Borduc] 

Cha.  [Drawing  Hernda  aside}  To-morrow,  love! 

Her.  To-night! 

Hud.  You've  won  your  suit,  Megario. 

If  by  our  presence  in  your  Goldusan 
We  can  advance  that  sister  country's  peace, 
The  journey's  naught.     We'll  count  it  done. 

M eg.  My  lord, 

All  revolution  will  dispel  as  air 
Before  your  eye.     Our  Cordiaz  is  great, 
But  his  familiar  subjects  are  too  near 
To  take  his  height,  while  you  they  know  to  be 
Of  giant  measure;  and  when  once  they  see 
Your  majesties  are  brothered,  Cordiaz 
Will  grow  your  twin  in  stature. 


THE    MORTAL    GODS  19 

Hud.  You've  our  word. 

Meg.  I  treasure  it, — and  lest  repeated  thanks 
Stale  their  sincerity,  I  beg  to  say 
Good-night. 

Hud.  You  have  our  leave.     Good-night,  my  lord. 

[Megario  bows  impressively  to  Hudibrand,  slightly  to  Bor- 
duc,  and  is  passing  out  when  Hernda,  who  has  crossed 
right,  intercepts  him] 

Her.  You  leave  us  early,  Lord  Megario. 

Meg.  I  do  not  leave,  your  Highness.     I  am  driven. 
I  go  to  drudgery  with  my  secretaries, 
Foregoing  even  the  sleep  that  might  have  brought 
Your  dreamed  face  to  me. 

Her.  Is't  still  your  wish 

To  meet  our  Spanish  guest? 

Meg.  He  grants  me  that? 

Her.  He  has  refused  a  meeting. 

Meg.  Ah!  ...  Refused. 

Her.  But  there's  a  way,  my  lord.     When  you  have 

passed 

The  second  door  without,  turn  to  the  left. 
You'll  find  a  vaulted  passage, — at  the  end 
An  entrance  to  my  wood.  Come  in,  and  wait. 

Meg.  You  grace  me  so? 

Her.  It  is  not  grace  that  breaks 

The  covenant  of  salt.     But  who  keeps  faith 
With  traitors?     He  is  one,  by  every  sign. 
An  evil  thing  blown  to  our  royal  hearth 
Through  Chartrien's  open  love  that  lets  all  winds 
Pour  in.     And  I'll  have  proof  of  it! 

Meg.  [Over  her  hand]  You  shall. 

[Exit,  lower  right] 

Cha.  [Crossing  to  Hernda]  A  long-spun  courtesy,  and 

with  one  merit, — 
It  ended  in  good-night. 


20  THE    MORTAL    GODS 

Her.  [Gayly]  Unruly  yet? 
A  truce  until  to-morrow! 

Cha.  You  believe  me? 

Her.  I  would  not  doubt  you  for  a  world  compact 
Of  virtues  only,  but  it's  no  unreason 
To  fear  you  are  deceived. 

Cha.  Dear  Hernda 

Her.  Come ! 

I  love  you,  Chartrien.     Let  us  have  an  hour 
As  light  as  joy,  as  sweet  as  peace,  and  call 
Your  friend  to  share  it.     He  shall  smile  for  me. 
I  vow  it,  by  his  most  ungentle  frown! 

Cha.  'Twill  take  your  deepest  magic,  for  his  heart 
Holds  naught  that  smiles  are  made  of. 

Her.  Bring  him  here. 

I'll  make  that  heart  my  wizard  bowl  and  mix 
Such  sweet  and  merry  potions  in't,  his  griefs 
Must  doff  their  gray  for  motley.     You  shall  see ! 

Cha.  Art  such  a  witch?     [Exit,  upper  left] 

Her.  What's  this  I  do?    My  soul 

Leans  shameward,  but  I'll  trounce  it  up.     The  man, 
If  innocent,  keeps  so,  untouched  and  clear. 
If  he  aims  darkly,  creeps  a  weaponed  hate 
Upon  my  noble  father,  do  I  worse 
Than  cancel  so  the  unwrought  half  of  's  crime, 
And  make  him  less  a  villain? 

Bor.  May  I  speak 

Against  this  southward  jaunt? 

Hud.  Loud  as  you  please, 

My  Bordy,  but  I  go. 

Bor.  Your  Highness  makes 

Assaria  bow  too  low. 

Hud.  The  State  shall  have 

No  name  in  this.     I  go  as  Cordiaz'  friend, 
Not  as  Assaria's  king.     I've  interests  there 


THE    MORTAL    GODS  21 

That  sort  with  quiet  venture.     Give  it  out 
This  move  in  part  concerns  my  health. 

Bor.  That  much 

I  welcome.     You  should  rest,  my  lord. 

Hud.  Ha?    Rest? 

The  twin  of  death!     I'll  rest  when  I  am  dust. 
Nay,  then  I  hope  that  storm  and  hurricane 
Will  keep  me  whirling.     No, — I'll  not  go  lame 
Even  in  report.    Say  that  this  move  concerns 
My  pleasure  solely, — solely,  Borduc. 

Her.  Father, 

I  have  a  suit.     May  I  not  go  with  you? 
I  long  to  make  that  land  where  you  are  loved, 
More  vivid  than  the  dream  that  now  it  is. 

Hud.  And  find  what  lodestar  there  draws  Chartrien 
From  constancy?     Well,  you  shall  go. 

Bor.  Tut,  tut! 

Her.  Dear  father! 

Hud.  This  will  give  domestic  screen 
And  color  to  our  tack.  . 

Bor.  A  gadding  throne — 

Hud.  Good  Borduc,  we  will  leave  the  throne  at  home. 
Do  not  you  stay? 

Bor.  I've  some  authority, 

You'll  not  dispute,  my  lord.     Much  as  may  go 
With  broad  election.     My  investiture 
Lies  in  the  people's  choice. 

Hud.  Ay,  you're  their  bark 

Of  freedom,  where  their  pride  may  hoist  full  sail, 
But  who  wots  better,  Bordy,  that  'tis  puffed 
With  winds  that  know  my  port? 

Bor.  They  think  their  choice 
Is  free.     Sincere  in  that,  they  give  my  post 
A  dignity  not  even  your  majesty 
May  mock  me  out  of. 


22  THE    MORTAL    GODS 

Hud.  Fools  are  noted  most 

For  their  sincerity, — a  virtue  that 
Must  stand  a  cipher  if  uncertified 
By  wit  or  wisdom. 

Bor.  Sir,  Assarians 

Are  not  the  fools  you  think  them.     They  are  men 
Who  have  the  patriot's  heart,  and  on  their  flag 
Where  you  write  "power"  their  love  reads  "liberty." 

Hud.  It  does,  praise  be !     And  they  may  keep  their  flag 
To  wear  around  their  eyes  long  as  they  will. 
For  then  I  dance  my  measure,  while  they  bump 
In  hither-whither  hoodman  blind  and  pay 
My  fiddler  too ! 

Bor.  And  what's  my  part  in  this? 

Hud.  The  fiddler's,  Borduc. 

Bor.  Sir? 

Hud.  And  your  next  tune 

Is  Goldusan.     Come,  let's  rehearse. 

Bor.  My  lord,— 

[Exeunt,  lower  right,  as  Chartrien  and  LeVal  enter  left] 

Her.  You've  come,  dear  Senor!     Was  it  savagery 
To  wrest  the  hour  from  you? 

LeV.  Too  kindly  done 

For  such  a  name, — though  I  was  deep  in  bond 
To  sober  thoughts,  your  Highness. 

Her.  Be  so  still. 

We  would  not  force  our  humor  on  your  heart, 
But  share  your  own. 

LeV.  [Smiling]  Can  you  be  sad? 

Her.  As  rains 

That  drench  October.     As  the  gray 
That  fringes  twilight  on  the  dark  of  moons. 
As  seas  that  sob  above  a  swallowed  ship, 
Repenting  storm.  [Leads  to  seat,  right] 

Come,  sir, — and  I'll  be  sad 


THE    MORTAL    GODS  23 

In  what  degree  you  choose,  though  I  could  wish  it 

Nearer  a  smile  than  rheum,  and  not  so  heavy 

But  that  its  sigh  may  float  upon  a  song, 

A  gentle  song  that  might  be  sorrow's  garland 

When  moan  wears  down.     Wilt  hear  one  now,  my  lord? 

I  have  a  music-maker  yon  whose  lute 

Was  nectared  in  a  poet's  tears  the  hour 

He  lost  his  dream.     Say  you  will  hear  him !     Nay, 

That  courtier  "yes"  can  not  o'ertake  the  "no" 

Sped  from  your  eyes.     We'll  have  no  music.     Yet 

The  soul  must  love  it  ere  one  can  be  sad 

To  th'  very  sweet  of  sadness.     O,  I  know! 

LeV.  I  love  it,  but  not  here. 

Her.  What  here  forbids? 

My  bower!    The  eye  translates  its  tenderness 
To  fairy  sound,  nor  need  of  pipe  or  strings. 

LeV.  I  can  not  hear  the  bells  of  fairydom 
When  life  is  making  thunder's  music  'gainst 
This  bauble  house  of  play 

Her.  [Rising]  Sir,  you  forget 

LeV.  Nay,  I  remember! 

Her.  What  do  you  remember? 

LeV.  Ah!  .  .  .  Pardon,  princess! 

Cha.  May  I  mend  this  peace? 

Her.  [Sitting  again  by  LeVal]  It  is  not  broken  yet. 

LeV.  Your  gentleness 

Has  saved  it,  not  my  manners. 

Her.  Oh,  my  lord, 

Would  I  had  grace  to  cover  sorrow's  breach 
As  smoothly  as  a  gap  in  courtesy! 
Then  you  should  smile ! 

LeV.  I  have  a  happiness 

That  makes  it  thievery  in  me  to  take 
Your  pity.     You've  a  sadder  need. 


24  THE    MORTAL    GODS 

Her.  I'll  yield 

No  jocund  vantage  to  that  brow  of  yours. 
You  hear  this  sombre  braggart,  Chartrien? 
Speaks  as  I  were  Despair's  own  fosterling! 

LeV.  You  are.     As  I  am  Hope's.     Do  you  not  gaze 
On  earth's  foul  spots  and  cry  "A  sad  world  this!" 
"  We  must  endure ! "     "  The  dear  God  wills  it  so ! " 
And  such  and  such  like  seed  of  misery 
Till  hopelessness  sprouts  chronic? — building  then 
Your  house  of  life  amid  its  smelling  weeds, 
Where  you  may  dance — or  pray — till  you  forget 
Your  creed  keeps  earth  in  tears? 

Her.  And  yours,  my  lord? 

LeV.  Gives  her  a  singing  and  forefeeling  heart 
Whose  courage  cleaves  renunciation's  cloud 
That  swathes  her  splendor  and  would  sighing  keep 
Her  livid  'mong  the  stars! 

Her.  You  would  divide 

Omnipotence  with  God,  and  arrogant, 
Assume  the  bigger  half.     But  there  are  woes 
That  even  your  hope,  though  it  go  winged  and  armored, 
Must  fall  before. 

LeV.  Not  one  that  I'll  not  face 

Until  its  features  mould  me  destiny, 
The  shape  of  radiance  it  shall  wear  for  man 
'Neath  an  unslandered  Heaven!     I  could  not  live 
If  in  the  life  about  me  I  saw  not 
The  world  within  this  world,  and  sped  my  hope 
The  way  that  it  shall  take. 

Her.  Is  not  that  way 

Called  Peace,  Emilio? 

LeV.  Not  the  peace  that  spills 

More  blood  than  war,  builds  bigger  jails,  and  leaves 
More  waifs  to  suck  the  stunting,  poisonous  breast 


THE    MORTAL    GODS  25 

Of  Charity!     Peace  as  white  ashes  spread 
Upon  injustice'  fly-blown  wrack 

Her.  [Leaving  him]  You  are 

A  revolutionist! 

LeV.  And  black  to  you, 

For  revolution  leads  into  the  horizon, 
And  must  be  figured  dark  to  rearward  eyes 
Though  God  beyond  gives  welcome. 

Her.  [Coming  gently  back]  May  we  not 

Be  patient  even  as  Christ,  who  found  this  world 
The  home  of  poverty  and  left  it  so? 
Did  he  not  say  the  poor  are  ever  with  us? 

LeV.  You  too  must  tap  that  last  and  golden  nail 
In  th'  pauper's  coffin! 

Her.  It  is  the  nail  of  truth, 

If  Christ  spoke  true. 

LeV.  Words  uttered  to  his  day, 

Not  to  all  time.     Not  as  a  deathless  brand 
Burning  his  own  millennium.     Not  meant 
To  take  from  man  his  goal,  condemning  him 
To  hug  an  ulcer  to  the  sick  world's  end, 
Which  even  your  bosom  must  take  to  whitest  bed 
Although  your  festrous  partner  be  not  guessed 
Nor  visible.     But  if  he  did  mean  that — 
That  vicious  thing — then  he  is  false  as  hell, 
Denying  man's  bright  destiny, — and  I, 
Who  vouch  the  triumph  of  an  angel  race, 
Am  more  a  god  than  he! 

Her.  You  dare  blaspheme 

LeV.  Because  it  once  was  said  to  men,  whom  worms 
Made  dust  of  twice  ten  hundred  years  ago, 
"The  poor  are  always  with  you,"  such  as  you 
Shall  not  forever  pick  your  way  to  ease 
O'er  broken  bodies,  lifting  up  white  brows 
And  hiding  crimson  feet!     Daring  to  make 


26  THE    MORTAL    GODS 

The  Christ  your  sheltering  sanction  while  you  feed 
On  others'  lives,  and  keep  injustice  sleek 
Even  as  you  cosset  that  dim  thing,  your  soul, 
And  preen  the  wings  you  think  bear  you  aloft 
The  puddled  world! 

Her.                       You  lie!    You  do  not  know 
Our  gentle  hearts,  our 

LeV.  Gentle?     O,  you're  nice, 

You  later  cannibals,  and  will  not  eat 
Of  babes  at  table,  but  you'll  pipe  their  blood 
From  unoffending  distance,  while  you  pray 
Your  conscience  numb  and  swear  the  source  is  clean. 
Some  dare  to  name  that  fount  the  Love  of  God, 
And  kneel  him  thanks ! 

Her.  Oh,  mad  and  impious! 

Who  is  this,  Chartrien,  you've  dared  call  your  friend? 
[Megario  steps  from  the  grove] 

Meg.  He's  dumb  as  prudence,  but  my  tongue  is  free. 
This  is  Rejan  LeVal,  the  man  who  hates 
Your  father, — and  my  country's  enemy. 

LeV.  [Plunging  toward  Megario]  Murderer! 

Cha.  [Grasping  LeV al]  Come!    At  once! 

M eg.  Your  pardon,  prince. 

I  must  delay  you.     I  feared  your  sympathy 
Would  gird  itself  'gainst  justice,  and  took  care 
To  balk  escape.  [To  officer  who  appears  behind  him] 

Be  off  with  him.     You  know 
Your  road.     No  stop  this  side  Peonia's  border. 

Cha.  Outlawry  this!    Stop,  sir!     You  will  not  dare 
Kidnap  him  on  this  soil! 

Meg.  [Laughs]  Where  Hudibrand 

Is  king? 

[Exit  officer  with  LeVal,  lower  right] 

Her.  This  strains  your  privilege,  my  lord. 

Cha.  His  privilege?     My  God!     Did  you  .  .  . 


THE    MORTAL    GODS  27 

Her.  I  did. 

Meg.  No  third  voice  here  is  cordant.     I  will  leave  you. 
My  thousand  times  most  gracious  lady,  thanks! 
Again  I  bid  you  happiest  good-night!     [Exit] 

Her.  I  am  no  adder,  though  your  bitter  eyes 
Give  me  that  name. 

Cha.  Not  bitter.     In  my  heart, 

That  wrapped  you  as  the  South  its  dearest  bud, 
There's  nothing  left  to  warm  the  thought  of  you 
Even  with  my  hate.     You  are  the  crown,  the  peak, 
The  unmeaning  top  of  all  to  which  I'm  most 
Indifferent.  [Turns  away] 

Her.         Look  at  me! 

Cha.  I  look,  and  know 

My  eyes  till  now  were  cankered,  look  and  see 
The  whole  fair  lie  you  are. 

Her.  Nay,  Chartrien! 

Cha.  The  book  is  open.     There  the  brow  yet  shines 
As  God  o'erlilied  it, — an  altar  urn 
Stuffed  with  profane  decay.     Those  are  the  eyes 
Like  springs  within  a  wood  where  no  road  leads 
With  murking  pilgrim  dust,  yet  Innocence 
There  paused  looks  up  no  more.     That  is  the  hand 
That  as  a  comrade  angel's  took  my  friend's, — 
Reached  out  as  though  it  parted  Heaven 's  veil 
To  draw  his  grief  within,  then  clapped  him  down 
To  Hell. 

Her.  The  place  for  traitors.     Let  him  go. 
This  moment  is  for  us.     'Tis  true  your  eyes 
Were  cankered,  and  I  thought  by  surgeon  means 
To  give  them  health,  but  deeper  than  the  eyes 
This  trouble's  seat.     Deep  as  your  changed  soul, 
That  forfeits  its  divinity  to  link 
With  an  infection.     Here  you  stood  and  heard 
Those  poured-out  profanations  with  no  move 
Or  sound  of  protest.     That  was  left  for  me. 


28  THE    MORTAL    GODS 

Cha.  What  truth  may  pierce  such  ignorance,  fatuous, 

thick! 

That  man, — Megario, — with  whom  you've  struck 
Alliant  palm,  twisted  a  lawless  law 
To  his  deformed  desire,  and  took  the  lands — 
The  priceless  valley  lands  of  Cana  Ru — 
From  gentle  dwellers  there,  whose  titles  bore 
The  rooted  claim  of  dear  ancestral  graves 
Nine  generations  deep, — and  when  they  stood 
The  guardians  of  their  doors,  faced  them  with  guns, 
Dragged  them  to  his  bribed  courts,  weighed  them  with 

fines, 

And  sent  them  to  his  burning  maguey  fields 
To  slave  and  rot. 

Her.  No— don't 

Cha.  The  lands  were  sold 

To  Hudibrand 

Her.  It  can  not  be! 

Cha.  Not  be? 

That  cry  is  stale  as  ignorance,  as  old 
As  wrong.     I've  heard  it  till  my  ears  refuse 
To  register  its  emptiness.     LeVal, 
It  was,  rose  first  against  Megario, — 
Stood  up  and  urged  men  to  be  Man, — and  this, 
That  makes  archangels  in  the  ranks  of  Heaven, 
Was  treason  upon  earth.     He  lived — escaped — 
But  not  his  wife.     Anointed  woman,  such 
As  centuries  with  conjoined  virtues  breed 
Once  and  no  more!     She  was  condemned,  enslaved, 
And  toiling  in  the  steaming  fields,  fell  down, 
Was  flogged,  and  died. 

Her.  No!  no!  no!  no! 

Cha.                            So  she 
Is  free.     But  now  LeVal  goes  back.     My  friend! 
O,  giant  heart !     I  see  you  stagger,  drop, 
As  feverous  as  the  smitten  earth 


THE    MORTAL    GODS  29 

Her.  Who  could 

Believe  such  things?    You're  wrong!    You  must — you 

shall 

Be  wrong!    He  was  a  traitor,  bitter-souled, 
Undoing  my  father's  work ! 

Cha.  Farewell! 

Her.  Oh,  Chartrien, 

I  did  it  for  the  best! 

Cha.  The  woman's  cry. 

She'd  wreck  a  world,  and  from  that  earthquake  piled 
Look  up  to  say  she  did  it  for  the  best. 

Her.  You  will  not  go?     You  loved  me  one  hour  past. 
I  am  not  changed.     I'm  Hernda  still. 

Cha.  The  same. 

And  yet  I  loved  you.     But  no  blush  need  burn 
The  soul  escaped  enchantment.     'Twas  a  charm 
Enringed  me  with  its  bale  till  helpless  there, 
And  feeble  as  a  babe  in  bassinet, 
I  cooed  away  my  manhood, — emptied  time 
With  infant  fingering  toward  your  protean  hair! 

Her.  You  loved  me! 

Cha.  More  than  ever  could  be  laid 

To  madness'  charge,  or  god  that  passion  whelms 
With  mortal  longing  till  his  skies  become 
His  prison,  and  dark  earth  Elysian  ground 
Beneath  the  feet  he  loves ! 

Her.  [With  arms  beseeching]  Here,  Chartrien,  here! 

Cha.  Even  when  my  eyes — so  late — were  wide  to  wrong 
That  binds  the  race  to  pain's  dread  Caucasus, 
My  mad  imagination  laid  the  gift 
Of  seership  on  you,  dreamed  that  you  would  go 
To  meet  the  gleam  of  the  delivering  days, 

Her.  With  you! 

Cha.  Sail  any  sea  of  venture,  beat 

Through  any  storm  to  make  the  prophet's  port, — 


30  THE    MORTAL    GODS 

White  priestess  vassal  to  the  truth  that  leads 
The  planet  into  light! 

Her.  Together,  Chartrien! 

Cha.  That  was  my  dream.     Then  coming  to  your  side, 
There  was  no  life  but  yours, — no  world  that  bled 
And  felt  the  vulture  feeding.     Groans  of  men 
Grew  still,  or  like  the  unavailing  hum 
Of  far-off,  aimless  bees,  scarce  reached  my  ears 
That  heard,  more  near,  as  music  from  new  earth, 
Your  children  call  me  father.     Ay,  'twas  but 
The  storming  undersea  of  passioning  sex 
That  breaking  to  the  sky  o'erlaid  my  stars 
And  wore  the  mask  of  Heaven !    That  ebbless  power, 
That  spawning  tide  of  Nature,  by  whose  might 
She  took  primordial  forts  and  made  Life  hers! 
Still  does  it  tear  belated,  unassuaged, 
In  wreck  about  the  Mind's  aspiring  fanes, 
And  shakes  the  nesting  Spirit  from  her  towers, 
Her  heavenly  brood  unfledged ! 

Her.  Oh!     Oh! 

Cha.  Here — now — 

I  beat  it  back,  and  go  my  way  unmated 
Till  beauty  fair  as  yours  has  bred  a  soul 
And  signals  me!  [Exit] 

Her.  Stay,  Chartrien!     Oh,  my  love! 

[Falls.     Curtain] 


ACT  II 

SCENE:  A  grove  in  the  outskirts  of  a  town  in  Goldusan. 
Semi-tropical  verdure.  Rocks,  shrubbery,  trees,  at  con- 
venience. A  hidden  cascade  mumbles  upper  right,  not 
loud  enough  to  disturb  conversation.  At  upper  left,  the 
pillared  and  vine-wreathed  entrance  to  a  mansion.  A 
wall,  rear,  partly  hidden  by  foliage.  Paths  lead  off, 
right  and  left,  lower,  under  trees.  It  is  evening,  and 
the  grove  is  lit  for  revel.  Gay  flocks  of  people  pass, 
then  Hernda  and  Megario  enter  lower  right. 

Meg.  Unsoft  as  winter!    Thou  hast  brought  thy  north, 
With  thee,  a  frigid  shade,  here  where  the  hours 
Are  poppy-fingered,  and  their  dreaming  breasts 
Unshuttered  as  the  summer! 

Her.  Is  it  true, 

This  joy,  that  smiles  as  though  its  fountained  heart 
Could  not  be  emptied? 

Meg.  True  as  that  I  love  you. 

Her.  But  if  it  is  no  mask,  why  should  revolt 
O'ercloud  your  borders? 

Meg.  There's  no  just  revolt. 

Her.  But  Chartrien  said — 

M eg.  Are  you  yet  poison-tinct 

With  that  old  rebel  tale  his  credulous  heart 
Dressed  new  in  his  white  honor  till  both  grew 
One  sooty  treason? 

Her.  Where  is  Chartrien  now? 

Meg.  Wherever  he  may  hatch  a  discontent 
And  cluck  us  trouble.     But  of  late  he  spurs 

31 


32  THE    MORTAL    GODS 

His  heart  of  venture,  and  dartles  to  our  towns 
To  stir  the  scum  there. 

Her.  Scum?     You've  such  a  thing 

In  Cordiaz'  happy  land?     I'll  see  that  scum. 
It  breathes,  does  't  not?     Has  eyes,  and  tongue? 
Can  answer  if  one  speaks? 

Meg.  You're  merry,  princess. 

Her.  As  graves  at  night.     All  is  not  open  here. 
I  shall  go  farther, — knock  at  doors  where  Truth 
Keeps  honest  house,  not  gowned  for  holiday. 

Meg.  One  want  we  have, — that  you  will  stay  with  us 
And  be  the  fairy  soul  of  Goldusan. 
Then  must  our  land,  so  measureless  endeared, 
Be  cherished  as  the  darling  care  of  Heaven, 
Where  storm  may  breathe  but  as  a  twittering  bird 
That  fears  to  shake  its  nest. 

Her.  You've  only  words! 

Words  like  these  thousand-thousand  smiles  that  seem 
Half  real  and  half  painted, — teasing,  strange, — 
All  feeding  one  illusion  round  my  way 
Till  even  the  ground  unqualifies  beneath  me 
And  makes  each  step  a  question. 

Meg.  'Tis  the  doubt 

You  look  through  that  transforms  our  face 
Of  truth  and  paints  us  vaguely  hued. 
O,  for  our  many  smiles,  wilt  not  give  one? 

Her.  Nay,  there's  a  darkness  fringing  on  this  grove. 
It  creeps  above  the  walls,  it  touches  me, 
And  makes  me  shudder  winding  at  my  feet ! 

Meg.  You've  sipped  of  fancy  at  a  witch's  knee! 

[Plucks  a  flower] 

But  see, — your  serpent  shadows  nurture  this. 
Confess  to  its  perfection,  and  be  shriven 
Of  any  thought  less  fair. 


THE    MORTAL    GODS  33 

Her.  Oh,  if  I  might! 

No,  keep  it.     Let  us  find  our  friends. 

Meg.  [Drops  the  flower]  My  hand 

Defiles  it  for  you. 

Her.  Nay 

Meg.  Where  is  the  fan 

I  carried  yester-night? 

Her.  'Tis— lost. 

Meg.  Tis  burnt! 

Her.  What  wind's  your  gossip? 

M eg.  Truth  paused  at  my  ear. 

But,  princess,  if  there's  any  charm  will  draw 
Your  eyes  to  me  unburdened  of  their  hate, 
I'll  find  it  though  it  lie  beneath  the  ruin 
Of  every  other  hope ! 

Her.  I'll  leave  you,  sir. 

Meg.  Forgive   me!    Love   will   speak, — ay,   storm   its 

need, 

Though  each  vain  word  pile  up  the  barricade 
That  fends  the  heart  desired. 

Her.  My  lord,  no  hate 

Is  in  that  barrier.     I'm  free  of  that. 

Meg.  Thanks    for   that    little    much.     Your    highness 

speaks 

Of  journeying.     What  can  I  say  to  gild 
My  own  Peonia  till  it  distant  gleams 
The  gem  of  pilgrimage?    There  you  will  see 
How  earth  is  dressed  when  the  devoted  sun 
Is  pledged  to  her  adorning.     Trees  that  mass 
Their  bloom  in  forest  heavens,  giving  her 
A  nearer  sky.     Un thwarted  vines  that  scarf 
Her  mountain  shoulders  with  their  pendent  clouds. 
Lakes  where  a  dreamer's  bark  may  drift  unoared 
And  chance  no  port  save  beauty.     Everywhere 
The  dart  and  wave  of  color  that  would  beckon 


34  THE    MORTAL    GODS 

A  neighbor  planet  looking  once  this  way. 

Come,  be  my  guest.     One  day !    I'll  ask  no  more. 

Her.  I  do  not  know.     Senora  Ziralay 
Will  be  my  guide.     I  go  with  her. 

Meg.  With  her? 

Her.  What  is't?     I  touch  the  shadow.     You  are  not 
Her  friend? 

Meg.        She  hates  in  secret,  while  her  smile 
Levies  the  world  for  love. 

Her.  I'll  hate  where  she  does, 

And  know  my  soul  is  safe. 

Meg.  Her  husband  holds 

By  love  and  purse  to  Cordiaz,  but  she 
IsaLeVal. 

Her.  LeVal?    And  kin  to— him? 

Meg.  Rejan?     His  sister.     And  I  know  her  nature 
Is  tinted  as  her  blood,  whatever  hue 
It  wears  at  court. 

Her.                   A  sister  to  the  man 
That  I  gave  up  to  death.     And  I  have  dared 
To  love  her — take  her  kiss 

Meg.  [Cautioning]  She's  here. 

[Enter -,  lower  right,  Senora  Ziralay  and  Guildamour] 

Her.  Senora! 

We  spoke  of  you. 

Sen.  And  with  such  gloom? 

Meg.  No,  no! 

Sen.  It  lingers  yet,  my  lord.     Do  I  in  absence  cast 
Such  knitted  shadows? 

Meg.  Safely  asked  of  us, 

Who  know  your  bright  philosophy.     How  fares 
That  magic  broom  with  which  you'd  sweep  the  earth 
Of  every  ill?     Is't  still  invincible? 

Sen.  Much  worn  of  late,  my  lord,  as  you  should  know, 
Who  give  it  work. 


THE    MORTAL    GODS  35 

Meg.  You'd  leave  us  not  one  grief 

To  keep  us  praying  and  rebuilding  Heaven? 
Abolish  Death  perhaps? 

Sen.  True  mock!     I  would 

Except  the  death  that's  like  a  waiting  bed 
When  not  another  turn  may  mend  the  day; 
When  sleep  is  sweeter  than  the  thumbed  book, 
And  hearth-near  voices  drowse  like  waves  that  lap 
Shores  unconcerned.     Now  we  are  murdered,  all. 

Meg.  No,  no,  Seflora! 

GUI.  Ay!    Do  we  not  vaunt, 

And  set  it  rarely  down,  a  thing  to  note, 
If  age  unmoor  the  life-disused  raft, 
For  th'  chartless  cruise? 

Sen.  Now  we  go  hurried  out, 

With  half  our  dreams  unpacked,  and  earth  made  poor 
With  a  few  grains  of  dust  where  should  have  risen 
Our  wisest  years  in  flower. 

Meg.  Fate,  fate,  Senora! 

Sen.  What's  fate  but  ignorance?     And  not  always  that 
Comes  hobbling  with  excuse.     Sometimes  a  man, 
Whose  eyes  fling  lances  at  the  foes  of  Life, 
Is  knouted  from  the  world 

Meg.  No  more,  I  pray) 

This  is  a  festal  night.     Reserve  your  sermon 
For  our  next  fast. 

[A  musical  group  plays  softly  under  trees  left.  Enter 
lower  right,  Hudibrand,  Cordiaz,  Rubirez,  Vardas,  Zir- 
alay,  and  others] 

Hud.  Here,  daughter?     You've  been  sought. 

Cor.  The  search  was  mine,  your  highness.     I  would  beg 
A  grace  of  you. 

Her.  You  grant  one  as  you  beg, 
Your  majesty.     I'll  not  do  less  than  give 
Your  own  again.     But  pray  you  name  it,  sir. 


36  THE    MORTAL    GODS 

Cor.  This  garden  where  our  amity  has  borne 
Its  fairest  blossom  shall  be  called  henceforth 
The  Grove  of  Peace,  and  we  would  beg  your  highness 
To  queen  our  christening. 

Her.  A  queenly  part, 

And  royally  I  thank  you,  but  I'll  play  it 
With  humblest  prayer  that  Heaven  may  keep  unbroken 
These  new-sworn  bonds  between  my  land  and  yours. 

Cor.  So  pray  we  all. 

Her.  Is  this  our  scene? 

•  Cor.  Not  here. 

Come  you  this  way,  my  friends.     We'll  cast  the  wine 
To  yon  cascade,  and  let  the  waters  bear  it 
Down  to  my  capital. 

[All  go  off  upper  right,  except  two  officers,  who  remain 
centre,  and  a  guard  who  walks  to  and  fro  by  wall  rear, 
sometimes  visible,  sometimes  hidden  by  the  wood  and 
rocks] 

First  Of.  This  peace  will  prove 

As  stout  as  any  spider's  thread  that  swings 
In  a  blowing  rain.     Fah ! 

Second  Off.  Climb  what  hill  you  please, 

You  see  the  rebels'  smoke. 

First  Off.  But  where  in  name 

Of  magic  does  Bolderez  get  his  gold? 
The  rebels  we  pick  up  have  lost  no  meals. 

Second  Off.  Enough  he  gets  it.     Goldusan  sleeps  well. 
Bolderez  is  so  near  that  if  his  men 
Were  eagles  they  could  pick  out  Cordiaz'  eyes 
And  he'd  not  wake  to  miss  'em. 

First  Off.  Cordiaz 

Is  not  asleep,  but  so  bedimmed  and  fooled 
By  a  thievish  Cabinet  that  what  he  sees 
Takes  any  name  they  give  it. 

Second  Off.  He  is  old. 


THE    MORTAL    GODS  37 

First  Off.  Ah,  there  you  hit  it.     Warriors  should  die 

young. 

When  age  unsoldiers  them  their  field-worn  hearts 
Have  no  defence  against  a  crafty  peace, 
And  falling  power  will  seize  on  any  prop 
Be't  foul  or  fair,  to  keep  on  legs. 

Second  Off.  My  faith! 

His  crutches  are  so  villanous,  a  fall 
Were  better  than  his  gait. 

[Enter  Ziralay,  lower  right] 

First  Off.  Well,  Ziralay, 
What  news? 

Zir.  Where's  Cordiaz? 

Second  Off.  He  comes. 

[Re-enter  group  from  the  cascade] 

Zir.  [To  Cordiaz]  My  lord, 

The  Assarian  prince  is  captured,  and  is  held 
Within  the  town. 

Cor.  What?     Chartrien? 

Zir.  Yes,  my  lord. 

Cor.  Fit  period  to  this  dedicated  day! 
Our  gentle  bonds  are  now  forged  whole.     The  man 
Who  was  Bolderez'  hope,  most  luminous 
Of  all  who  drew  rebellion  to  him,  now 
Is  darkly  fallen. 

Rub.  This  golden  aid  cut  off, 

Bolderez  stands  so  bare  his  nakedness 
Will  sprint  to  nearest  cover. 

Cor.  I'll  see  his  face. 

Bring  here  the  prisoner. 

Off.  I'll  speed  the  order, 

Your  majesty.     [Exit] 

Rub.  Shall  he  be  shot,  my  lord? 

Cor.  Shot?     No.     But  kept  close  prisoned. 


38  THE    MORTAL    GODS 

Rub.  That  is  mercy 

You  have  denied  the  blood  of  Goldusan. 
Why  grant  it  to  Assaria? 

Var.  In  him  swells 

A  strength  was  never  in  LeVal.     I  urge 
His  instant  death. 

Cor.  No,  friends.     He  is  a  son 

Of  our  great  neighbor,  and  his  death  would  wound 
The  courtesy  of  nations  that  is  kept 
By  lenience  unabraded. 

Var.  Breath  so  bold 

Will  from  a  prison  fan  the  treachery 
Whose  flame  would  die  without  it. 

Her.  Father,  speak! 

Cor.  We'll  hear  our  friend,  Assaria's  majesty, 
If  he  have  word  for  us. 

Hud.  I  pray  your  highness 

To  let  no  ghostly  and  unfounded  fear 
Of  my  Assaria 

Cor.  Fear,  my  lord? 

Hud.  I  mean 

No  more  than  ask  you  to  be  just,  nor  let 
My  presence  here  enforce  your  chivalry 
To  do  your  country  wrong.     Think  of  your  people, 
Not  the  approval  of  a  gazing  land 
Whose  distant  nod  is  given  in  ignorance 
Of  your  stern  cause. 

Her.  Here's  not  my  father!     So 

The  clock  runs  backward,  and  time  ends. 

Meg.  [To  Cordiaz]  Your  highness, 

My  voice  is  not  so  loud  as  others  here, 
But  could  I  send  it  far  as  sound  may  go, 
It  should  take  mercy's  part  in  this  debate. 

Var.  You  need  no  trump,  my  lord.     A  limpet's  whistle 
Would  tell  us  where  you  stand. 


THE    MORTAL    GODS  39 

M eg.  I  stand  with  Cordiaz, 

His  majesty  of  Goldusan! 

Cor.  This  matter 

Is  not  for  open  market.     Come,  my  friends, 
Let  us  go  in.     Please  you  to  walk  before. 

[Rubirez,  Ziralay,  Vardas,  and  Megario  enter  the  house, 
upper  left.  Their  majesties  linger  at  entrance.  Guild- 
amour  retreats  on  path,  upper  right.  Officers  go  off, 
lower  left.  Hernda  and  Senora  Ziralay  wait  unno- 
ticed, right] 

Cor.  Is't  kindly  done,  my  lord,  to  pose  your  station 
In  public  against  mine? 

Hud.  My  neutral  words 

You've  packed  with  import  all  your  own.     I  strive 
To  bend  not  right  or  left,  but  keep  my  way 
As  even  as  Justice. 

Her.  [To  Senora]  Justice!    There's  a  stone 
That  was  my  father. 

Cor.  Yet,  my  lord,  this  prince 

Is  of  your  house. 

Hud.  Is  it  for  Cordiaz 

To  teach  me  mercy? 

Cor.  By  my  soul! 

Hud.  I  know 

Whence  starts  this  softness.     Mercy  has  no  fane 
Where  you  leave  offering. 

Cor.  I  know  you  too ! 

By  holy  Heaven,  your  head  was  never  bared 
In  Justice'  temple !     You  now  seek  my  fall, 
Because  I've  turned  at  last  to  check  the  hand 
That  rifles  Goldusan.     Is't  not  enough 
That  I've  unjewelled  all  her  treasured  hills 
To  alien  avarice — that  her  forests  bleed 
The  priceless  sap  of  all  primeval  Springs 
Into  your  golden  stream?     But  I  must  lay 


40  THE    MORTAL    GODS 

My  people  under  bond, — sell  them  as  slaves 
To  buy  your  stolen  railways ! 

Hud.  Stolen,  sir? 

I've  paid 

Cor.  I  know  what  you  have  paid !     You've  sent 
Your  henchmen  creeping  in  the  night,  to  buy 
At  beggar's  price  our  toil-built  roads,  and  where 
You  could  not  buy,  you  bribed  and  thieved,  till  all 
Was  yours! 

Hud.        What  of  my  toil,  that  built  the  lines 
Through  half  your  provinces? 

Cor.  You  paid  yourself! 

Took  from  my  governors,  half  gulls,  half  thieves 
Of  your  own  breed,  a  hundred  times  the  worth 
Of  every  graded  foot,  in  lands  and  mines 
And  water-power  that  holds  the  prisoned  light 
Of  robbed  futurity !    Now  we  must  buy 
Once  more  those  tracks,  long  over-bought, — pay  you 
A  value  centuple  for  every  mile, — 
Pay  you  in  bonds — bonds  in  hell's  verity — 
Whose  interest  will  outrun  each  reckoned  year 
The  summed  returns  from  our  fool's  purchase!    No! 
That  is  my  word  while  I  am  Goldusan ! 

Hud.  You  wake  too  late.     I'll  tell  you  so,  my  lord, 
Since  this  imprudent  burst  thrusts  courtesy 
From  court.     Your  ministers  have  given  assent 

Cor.  Have  given !    You'll  over-steal  enough 
To  quit  their  boldest  price ! 

Hud.  I'll  not  defend 

Your  chosen  servants,  sir. 

Cor.  My  servants !     Oh, 

What  State  is  free  from  scuttling  greed  that  bores 
For  treasure  through  the  stanchest  hold? 

Hud.  This  moral  chant  comes  late  from  you,  my  lord, 
Who've  fingered  heavily  in  many  a  pie 
Spiced  in  the  devil's  kitchen. 


THE    MORTAL    GODS  41 

Cor.  But  to  sell 

My  people!     Pay  you  this  devouring  price 
For  stock  that  barely  yields  the  groaning  third 
Of  interest  on  your  bonds !     What  shall  we  do 
To  pay  it?     Rob  our  treasury,  and  ask 
Our  worn-out  slaves  to  fill  it  up  again? 
Not  ask,  but  goad  and  lash, — for  you  must  have 
Your  own — you  honest  mortgagees  of  babes 
Unborn 

Hud.  Is  all  the  scarlet  on  our  hands? 
What  of  that  mountain  province,  sold  entire 
To  foreign  pockets,  and  the  dwellers  there 
Torn  up  like  shrieking  roots  and  cast  abroad 
To  fasten  where  they  could? 

Cor.  And  where  was  that 

But  in  your  hell-mouthed  mines?     You  wanted  slaves, 
And  got  them. 

Her.  I  shall  die,  Senora! 

Sen.  Listen! 

Hud.  The  tyrant  Cordiaz  grown  pitiful? 
Then  stones  are  butter,  alabaster  is 
Uncrumpled  down.     You  should  have  wept  before 
The  Pueblo  strike,  then  fewer  corpses  had 
Gone  out  to  sea. 

Cor.  Don't  name  that  thing  to  me! 
Don't  speak  of  it!     I  will  not  bear  that  curse! 

Hud.  Mine  aged  convert,  lies  it  in  your  will, 
Or  juster  Heaven's? 

Cor.                       'Twas  your  property 
My  troops  defended — and  Rubirez  lied. 
Swore  that  the  men  foamed  mad  as  tusked  beasts, 
And  must  be  trashed  to  place, — men  who  had  asked 
No  more  than  bread  when  you  shut  up  your  doors 

Hud.  Not  I>  my  friend. 


42  THE    MORTAL    GODS 

Cor.  Your  tool  then.     One  of  all 

Your  million  hooked  hands  fast  in  the  heart 
Of  my  poor  country,  shut  your  doors,  thereby 
To  starve  the  wretches  till  they  crawled  to  you 
And  begged  their  chains  again.     But  they — their  veins 
Were  not  all  tapped — they'd  blood  left,  and  arose 
From  their  dumb  prayers  to  fight  for  life — and  then.  .  .  . 

Hud.  You  sent  the  troops. 

Cor.  Because  Rubirez  lied! 

Hud.  Because  you  knew  there'd  be  no  after-sale 
For  your  high  favors,  once  let  titles  drift 
Unguaranteed.     And  when  your  work  was  done — 
Your  work,  my  tear-washed  saint,  why  weary  patience 
Could  not  take  further  time  to  count  the  dead, 
Or  dig  so  many  graves.     They  were  piled  up 
And  carted  to  the  sea 

Cor.  Oh,  every  tide 

Brings  back  their  faces — staring,  staring  up ! 
Will  God  not  answer  them?     I  dare  not  shut 
My  eyes.  .  .  . 

Hud.  And  this  is  why  you  weep  so  late? 
Come,  Cordiaz,  you're  broken.     Leave  a  throne 
Your  own  fears  shake.     You  know  that  I  must  win. 
Own  you  are  mastered 

Cor.  Mastered!    While  I've  breath 

I  am  a  king.     If  I  win  peace  of  God, 
And  his  white  angel  let  my  dark  soul  out, 
'Twill  be  for  this — the  last  throe  of  my  strength 
Was  spent  against  you ! 

Hud.  Madly  you've  uncased 

Your  madness,  and  I  know  my  weapons. 

Cor.  So! 

I  too,  my  lord,  know  how  to  sleep  and  wake 
With  hand  on  steel. 

Hud.  Then  is  there  more  to  say? 


THE    MORTAL    GODS  43 

Cor.  All's  said.     We're  waited  for.     Assaria, 
WilTt  please  you  enter? 

Hud.  I  thank  you,  Goldusan. 

[They  go  in] 

Her.  Don't  comfort  me,  Seiiora.     Not  a  breath. 
I'll  not  disfigure  shame  with  comfort's  patch, 
But  droop  as  low  as  leprous  dust,  and  take 
Some  pride  in  that.     'Tis  dark  here,  dark.     Pray  God 
I  am  asleep! 

Sen.          Dear  princess! 

Her.  Men  do  well 

To  keep  the  women  blind.     If  once  they  knew, 
They'd  breed  no  more,  but  let  a  bairnless  world 
Escheat  to  God.     Yet  you,  Seiiora,  knew, 
And  you  have  children.     By  your  motherhood 
You've  bound  you  Life's  accomplice, — given  it  heart 
And  veins  and  an  accepting  soul! 

Sen.  I  have! 

Deny  our  hearts  these  babes,  and  we  deny 
The  future  that  we  fight  for.     Ah,  defeat 
May  be  endured  by  those  who  hold  in  lap 
The  victors  of  to-morrow! 

Her.  Oh,  my  father! 

Sen.  This  truth  was  edged   and  swift.     You  should 

have  had 
Love's  lips  to  teach  you 

Her.  I've  been  taught,  my  friend, 

But  would  not  learn.  [Rising]  Seiiora,  it  was  I 
Betrayed  your  brother! 

Sen.  Yes.  ...  I  know. 

Her.  To  death! 

You  do  not  understand.     I  killed  him! 

Sen.  No. 

There,  love, — forget  a  little.     I've  a  hope 
He  is  not  dead. 


44  THE    MORTAL    GODS 

Her.  Not  dead?     What  gives  you  hope? 

Sen.  Perhaps  the  nameless  mentor  in  the  heart 
That  tells  us  when  our  loved  shrines  are  lit 
And  when  they're  out  forever.     But  there's  more. 
Whenever  Lord  Megario's  eye  meets  mine 
There's  something  couched  there  speaks  me  living  wrong, 
Not  wrong  that's  ended — locked  within  a  grave 
No  prayer  may  open.     He  is  burning  yet 
With  uncompleted  vengeance — and  its  shame. 

Her.  Senora,  you've  a  plan! 

Sen.  'Twill  take  much  gold. 

Her.  Ah,  I  have  that. 

Sen.  And  courage. 

Her.  Well! 

Sen.  Such  as, 

We're  told,  no  woman  has. 

Her.  Here  is  my  life, 

And  any  Fate  may  have  it  that  will  make 
Your  brother  live.     Will  you  forgive  me  then? 

Sen.  [Kissing  her]  Ah,  dear,  you  could  not  know.  .  .  . 

Her.  How  did  you  hear? 

Sen.  From  Chartrien. 

Her.  You  are  friends? 

Sen.  So  true  he  seems 

Not  friend  but  friendship  to  my  soul.     And  I 
Talk  here,  while  yonder  he 

Her.  They  dare  not!     No! 

My  father  would.  .  .  .  My  father?     Oh,  Senora! 

[Sobs  hopelessly] 

Sen.  We'll  find  a  door  to  this. 

Her.  Would  Ziralay 

Not  help? 

Sen.  Had  he  the  wit,  he  would  not  dare. 
While  I'm  his  wife  he  must  keep  double  guard 
Against  suspicion. 


THE    MORTAL    GODS  45 

Her.  Oh! 

Sen.  If  there's  one  true, 

'Tis  Guildamour.     I'll  go  to  him. 

Her.  At  once ! 

He  took  that  path. 

Sen.  I  know  what  shade  he  seeks 

When  he  would  brood. 

[Exit  Senora,  upper  right.  Hernda  waits  drooping,  as  if 
too  weary  for  thought.  A  group  of  ladies  and  gentle- 
men enter,  lower  right,  among  them  Guildamour] 

Her.  [Starting  up]  Oh! — Guildamour! 

GUI.  Your  highness ! 

[Leaves  his  party  chattering  lower  left,  and  crosses  to 
Hernda] 

Her.  Senora  seeks  you. 

GUI.  Ah,  about  the  prince? 

Her.  We  have  a  hope,  my  lord,  your  hand  may  turn 
Some  stone  of  rescue. 

GUI.  Mine  are  powerless  hands, 

Pinned  to  inaction's  cross.     My  eyes  may  turn 
No  way  that  is  not  watched.     To  lift  my  lids 
May  raise  a  cry  of  "Treason!" 

Her.  There's  no  help? 

In  all  this  land  no  help? 

GUI.  Megario, 

Could  he  be  softened  to  it,  is  the  man 
Who  might  with  safety  slip  a  secret  bolt 
For  Chartrien. 

Her.  He! 

GUI.         His  name  is  set  above 
The  nick  of  treason  by  his  stern  dispatch 
Of  poor  LeVal, — and,  that  struck  off,  he  yet 
Is  chronicled  so  dark  that  none  would  lay 
A  fair  deed  at  his  door. 

Her.  Megario! 


46  THE    MORTAL    GODS 

Gui.  I  would  not  name  him,  but  I  know  he  loves  you, 
And  there's  no  soul  that  love  may  not  endue 
With  tinge  of  Heaven. 

[Re-enter  Senora] 

Her.  Senora ! 

Sen.  [Panting]  I  have  seen  him! 

Gui.  The  prince? 

Her.  Not  Chartrien? 

Sen.  Yes! 

Gui.  Escaped? 

Sen.  The  guards 

Were  of  our  heart — they  let  him  make  the  wood — 
I've  hidden  him 

Her.  Oh,  where? 

Sen.  Within  the  cave 

Veiled  by  the  waterfall.     But  safety  there 
Is  minute-frail. 

Gui.  What  way?     He'll  climb  the  wall? 

Sen.  And  drop  into  the  river. 

Gui.  Yes.    What  guard 

Walks  there?     I  see.     'Tis  Miguel.     And  I  know 
Somewhat  of  him, — more  than  he'd  tell  the  winds. 

Sen.  Thank  Heaven  for  a  sinner!     When  he's  next 
Behind  the  rocks,  then  to  him,  Guildamour, 
And  be  his  palsying  conscience.     Peg  his  feet 
To  the  earth! 

Gui.  Trust  me,  Senora! 

Sen.  I'll  lead  off 

Those  babblers.     Princess,  you're  the  watch, — you'll  give 
The  signal. 

Her.        Ah!  What  is  't? 

Sen.  Two  pebbles  dashed 

Into  the  water  is  our  sign. 

Her.  The  guard ! 

He's  gone! 


THE    MORTAL    GODS  47 

GUI.  It  is  our  time.     [Exit  into  wood,  rear] 

Her.  [As  the  talkative  group  move  up]  Take  them  away, 
Seiiora!     It  would  kill  me  now  to  meet 
A  painted  smile. 

Sen.  I'll  go.     And  you — be  swift. 

Don't  stop — don't  think.     [Joins  group] 

I  know  where  lordings  three 
Wait  for  as  many  maids. 

A  young  lady.     You  saw  them  pass? 

Sen.  Disconsolate. 

Young  Lady.  O,  to  the  river! 

Another.  Come ! 

[  They  go  off  with  Senora,  lower  left] 

Her.  Now!  [Takes  up  two  stones.  Ziralay  and  Megario 
come  out  of  house]  Oh!  [She  drops  the  stones.  They  cross 
to  her] 

Meg.       You  wait? 

Her.  I  read  the  sentence. 

Zir.  Death. 

Her.  And  when? 

Zir.  To-night.     They've  given  Vardas  charge 

Of  't.     He's  an  eager  butcher, — does  not  know 
Delay. 

Her.  You  wished  his  death. 

Zir.  I  voted  no. 

Megario  laid  my  doubts. 

Her.  Did  he  do  that? 

Zir.  He  countered  to  their  teeth. 

Her.  [To  Megario]  So  merciful 
Is  hate? 

Meg.  The  prince's  death  would  mean  the  fall 
Of  Cordiaz,  and  our  houses  rock  with  his. 

Her.  Be  clearer,  pray  you. 

Meg.  Vardas  wants  the  throne, 
And  we've  a  sour  and  guilty  faction  here 


48  THE    MORTAL    GODS 

Who'd  see  him  on  it,  but  they  dare  not  move 
Against  a  king  yet  rich  in  arms  and  friends. 
And  Hudibrand  is  not  so  absolute 
That  he  may  turn  the  army  of  Assaria 
On  the  sole  pivot  of  his  word.     For  that, 
Even  he  must  knock  the  sleeping  nation  up 
And  ask  good  leave. 

Her.  You'd  say,  sir,  Hudibrand 

Would  favor  Vardas? 

Zir.  Short  and  plain,  he  does. 

Her.  What  then? 

M eg.  The  Assarians  are  proud,  and  where 

They  think  their  honor's  pricked,  their  pride  out-tops 
Their  judgment.     Chartrien's  death,  whose  ugly  weight 
Must  lie  with  Cordiaz,  will  inflame  their  hearts 
Till  Hudibrand  may  send  an  army  on  us, 
His  people  clapping  to  't.     In  open  day 
They'll  choose  the  road  his  cunning  cut  by  night, 
And  pray  him  take  it. 

Zir.  Ay,  and  where  are  we, 

With  Vardas  crowned  in  Goldusan? 

Her.  I  see. 

Meg.  He'd  like  my  million  acres  in  Peonia 
Sliced  for  his  foreign  hounds ! 

[Enter  an  officer] 

Zir.  What  trouble  now? 

Off.  Prince  Chartrien  has  escaped. 

Meg.  And  you  in  charge? 

Off.  I  sent  him  with  good  men,  or  so  I  thought, 
Being  pressed  to  another  way 

Meg.  His  guards, — what  name? 

Off.  Vinaldo,  and  a  sergeant,  who 

Meg.  Vinaldo ! 

He's  on  the  blue  list,  turning  fast  to  black. 
Did  you  not  know  it? 


THE    MORTAL    GODS  49 

Off.  I  held  him,  sir,  the  pick 

Of  loyalty. 

Meg.  Well,— on.     What  else? 

Off.  They  reached 

The  grove,  passed  in,  and  after  prudent  time, 
The  guards  came  out,  smug  as  all  right,  and  now 
They're  gone, — clear  foot, — will  doff  you  from  the  hills. 

Meg.  A  tale  for  Vardas!     You  may  save  your  beard, 
But  not  your  neck. 

Off.  I'll  not  shake  yet.     The  prince 

Is  in  the  grove.     We'll  soon  uncover  him. 

Zir.  The  walls  are  picketed? 

Off.  A  double  watch 

Is  on. 

Zir.  That's  well  enough. 

Off .  On  chance  he  makes 

The  wall,  I've  reinforced  the  river  guard. 

Meg.  Both  sides? 

Off.  A  close  patrol,  both  east  and  west. 

Though  he  had  fishes'  gills  and  dived  the  stream, 
He'd  not  get  by.     That  way  is  fast  against  him 
As  Belam's  iron  door. 

Meg.  [To  Hernda]  You're  ill? 

Her.  No,  no! 

I'm  well — quite  well. 

M eg.  The  lily  in  your  cheek 

Lies  not  so  bravely. 

Off.  [To  Ziralay]    If  he  gets  out  of  this, 
He'll  steer  around  the  moon.     We'll  find  him,  sir. 
But  he's  most  darkly  hid.     Has  made  a  coat 
Of  leaves  and  plays  the  grouse  trick  on  us. 

Zir.  Come! 

His  majesty  must  know.     [Ziralay  and  officer  go  into  house] 

Meg.  How  may  I  help  you?     Let  the  service  be 
Of  such  poor  nature  as  your  dog  might  give, 
And  pride  will  whistle  to  it. 


50  THE    MORTAL    GODS 

Her.  O,  my  lord, 

I  half  believe  you.     When  our  angels  fall, 
Then  devils  are  not  black.     And  I  have  lost 
My  father. 

Meg.  Devils !    You've  a  tongue. 

Her.  Forgive 

A  heart  unmantled,  and  too  wild  to  choose 
What  word  may  veil  it.     I  would  say,  my  lord, 
In  this  discolored  world  I  now  begin 
To  find  you  fair, 

Meg.  O,  heavenly  retraction! 

Her.  And  if  I  ask  a  service  it  will  be 
No  paltry  one,  but  such  as  makes  the  king 
Bow  to  the  knight. 

Meg.  I'll  prove  this  grace 

Is  native  in  me,  and  not  solely  lent 
Of  your  new  bounty ! 

Her.  Would  you  save  the  life 

Of  Chartrien? 

Meg.  I  would.     Though  a  treasonous  tool 
Of  rebelry,  he  should  be  held  by  me 
A  prisoner  of  knightliest  war. 

Her.  A  prisoner! 

Meg.  You  can  not  ask  his  freedom !    That  would  give 
My  foes  clear  argument  to  pluck  me  bare, 
And  set  me  outlawed  on  the  rebel  side 
Of  this  deplored  division. 

Her.  Oh,  not  free! 

And  in  your  power! 

Meg.  To  hold  him  prisoner, — that 

I'd  undertake,  and  make  the  action  good 
Even  to  this  bloody  council. 

Her.  You'd  dare  that? 

Meg.  My  policy  is  open,  and  I'd  dare 
To  put  it  into  deed  that  must  commend  me 
To  their  unwilling  justice.     To  do  more 


THE    MORTAL    GODS  51 

Would  disarray  all  sense, — be  fullest  like 
The  idiot's  gesture  that  disrobes  the  wretch 
Of  his  last  sanity. 

Her.  Megario.  .  .  . 

M eg.  What  secret  is  so  dear  these  costly  sighs, 
Like  gentle  pickets  ever  reinforced, 
Let  it  not  pass? 

Her.  A  secret?    No! 

Meg.  But  yes. 

I  push  me  by  its  fragile  guardians, 
And  hear  it  beating  in  its  citadel. 

Her.  What  says  it  then? 

Meg.  You've  seen  the  prince. 

Her.  My  lord! 

Meg.  You  know  what  shadow  hides  him. 

Her.  No,  no,  no! 

My  oath,  sir,  I've  not  seen  him! 

Meg.  I  would  trust 

One  negative,  not  three.     Give  him  to  me, 
And  you  will  know  he  lives.     Let  him  be  found 
By  Vardas'  men,  and  when  you  wake  to-morrow 
The  earth  will  be  without  him. 

Her.  No,  not  you ! 

I'll  go  to  Cordiaz.     He'll  save  the  prince 
As  he  would  save  his  throne.     You've  taught  me  that. 

M  eg.  He'd  lose  it  so.     Should  Cordiaz  to-night 
Set  Chartrien  free,  he'd  rise  without  a  lord 
To  bid  him  one  good-morrow. 

Her.  Ziralay.  .  .  . 

Meg.  Ask  him?     An  ass  whose  ears  if  visible 

Would  signal  Mars !     Say  he  had  courage  for  you, 
He'd  blunder  with  the  prince  to  Vardas'  arms. 

Her.  Ah,  you  could  do  it, — set  him  free! 

Meg.  Nay — don't — 

Don't  ask  it,  if  you've  mercy !    Your  highness  knows 


52  THE    MORTAL    GODS 

I  could  not  grant  so  much  though  lips  I  love 
Above  my  soul  should  beg  that  treason  of  me. 
Though  they  should  take  again  those  dearest  words 
That  knighted  me,  and  now  lie  in  my  heart 
Like  swelling  seed  of  fortune!     Let  me  shield 

His  life.     In  saintliest  trust [She  shudders  from  him] 

You  fear  me  so? 

Her.  I  do!     I  do!     You  took  away  LeVal, 
And  he  no  longer  lives. 

Meg.  He  does !     My  oath, 

He  does! 

Her.  You  spared  him? 

M eg.  By  my  soul,  he  lives ! 

But  let  the  word  sleep  in  your  vestal  ear, 
Until  these  smouldering  troubles  die  to  dust 
And  feed  the  grass  above  them.     For  the  State 
Believes  LeVal  is  dead,  nor  taints  me  with 
Such  treacherous  clemency.     See  how  I  lay 
My  safety  and  my  honor  in  your  hands? 
I  give  them,  hostages  for  Chartrien! 
Ah,  you  should  know  how  I  will  guard  your  trust, 
For  when  I  say  to  you  he  does  not  live, 
Your  eyes  will  slay  the  single,  nurturing  hope 
Of  my  own  life ! 

Her.  [Battling]  I  can  not!     I'm  not  Fate 
To  do  her  awesome  work. 

Meg.  We  aid  her  most 

With  passive  hand,  as  Chartrien's  ghost  will  come 
On  mourning  nights  to  tell  you. 

Her.  Oh,  I'll  speak!  .  .  . 

No,  no!     Ah,  never,  never! 

Meg.  [Resolute,  giving  up  his  suit]  I  must  join 
The  hunt.     There's  but  one  place — the  cave 

Her.  The  cave! 

Meg.  Those  guards  are  fools — or  shy  of  water. 


THE    MORTAL   GODS  53 

Her.  Sir, 

What  cave? 

Meg.  He's  there.     Your  cold,  uncandid  calm 
Has  babbled  it.     The  frost  is  crafty  that 
Puts  out  such  anxious  fire. 

Her.  My  lord,  if  I 

Should  tell  you.  .  .  . 

Meg.  Quickly  then!     How  canst  debate 

So  fatally,  knowing  delay  but  robs  him 
Of  venture's  favor?     Every  moment  steals 
A  bud  of  chance. 

Her.  How  will  you  take  him  out? 

Meg.  I'll  pass  the  gates  unchallenged.     Close  without, 
My  car  stands  by, — a  racer  never  spent, 
And  begs  no  pause.     Know  he  is  safe,  and  sleep. 
Night  will  be  secret,  and  we'll  greet  the  sun 
In  my  Peonia 

Her.  Ah,  Peonia's  far! 

Meg.  And  Vardas  near. 

Her.                                 Take  these  two  stones,  my  lord. 
Cast  them  into  the  falls 

Meg.  So!     I  was  right! 

But  you  must  summon  him. 

Her.  So  soon  a  tyrant? 

Meg.  I'll  take  him  from  your  hands, — no  other  way. 
Your  trust  to  me!     And  with  my  life  I'll  guard  it! 
For  that  you  love  him  is  my  means  to  you. 
Once  in  your  heart,  I'll  win  the  throned  place 
Though  all  his  saints  defend  it! 

Her.  True,  my  friend, 

We  shall  be  nearer,  for  anxiety 
Will  draw  me  to  you  with  a  longing  like 
The  aching  letch  for  morning  in  the  eyes 
Pain  keeps  astare.     You  then  will  be  the  goal 
Of  fondest  question, — and  from  that — who  knows? 


54  THE    MORTAL    GODS 

Out  of  unbroken  faith,  and  kindly  shafts 
'Tween  hearts  disponent,  bridges  have  been  built 
For  love's  plenipotence  to  cross. 

Meg.  You  bid 

Me  hope? 

Her.  I  do  not  say  despair.     Sometimes 
A  presto-worker  sits  within  the  soul 
Of  gratitude,  and  love  that  must  give  thanks 
In  name  of  one  beloved,  has  then  been  known 
To  pass  from  the  liege  object  to  the  heart 
Whose  compass  held  them  both  in  selfless  bounds 
Of  chivalry.     And  yet — I  promise  nothing ! 

M eg.  I  ask  no  promise  but  the  one  I  find 
In  words  that  so  deny  it.     Now  the  thought 
Is  born,  I'll  make  the  naked  infant  grow 
Heir  of  my  princely  opportunity. 
Go  now.     An  instant  may  defeat  us.     Haste! 
My  purse  must  buy  a  guard. 

[Hernda  goes  off,  upper  right.     Megario  walks  left  and 
calls] 

Benito!    Ho! 
You  and  your  fellow ! 

[Enter  two  guards] 

I  have  work  for  you. 

You've  seen  my  gold  before.     Here's  more  of  it. 
Stand  for  my  word. 

[Hernda  returns  with  Chartrien] 

Cha.  Gods  give  me  time  for  one 

Wild  kiss!     O,  Heaven!    To  find  and  lose  you  in 
One  whirling  breath ! 

Meg.  [His  pistol  at  aim]  You  are  my  prisoner. 
[Senora  rushes  on  left] 

Sen.  Oh,  princess!     Oh! 

Meg.  [To  guards]  Move  on  with  him. 

Her.  Wait—wait 


THE    MORTAL    GODS  55 

Meg.  No  time. 

Her.  But  I  must  tell— 

Cha.  Let  fiends  be  dumb. 

You  damned  and  double  traitress,  this  my  hand 
Could  lay  you  dead ! 

Meg.  [To  Hernda,  who  seems  dazed]  My  goddess,  I'll  be 
true! 

[Kisses  her,  and  goes  off,  lower  right,  with  Chartrien  and 
guards} 

Sen.  You  let  him  kiss  you! 

Her.  Who? 

Sen.  Megario. 

Her.  I  did  not  know  it.     I  am  dead,  I  think. 

[Curtain] 


ACT   III 

SCENE  :  A  yard,  walled  and  spiked,  of  Megario's  hacienda. 
A  long,  low  hut,  the  men's  sleeping-quarters,  at  right. 
In  upper  centre,  a  smaller  hut  which  serves  for  kitchen 
and  also  as  sleeping-room  for  several  women.  On  left, 
the  yard  continues,  showing  other  huts  used  by  families. 
The  entrance  gate  is  off  stage,  left.  An  unused  gate, 
locked  and  barred  in  wall,  right. 

Hernda,  in  the  guise  of  a  young  Maya  woman  known  as 

Famette,  stirs  a  pan  of  food  which  is  heating  on  some 

coals  in  front  of  kitchen.     Lissa  stands  in  door  of  hut 

watching  her. 

Lis.  [Stepping  out}  You   mend,   Famette.     But  when 

you  came — all  thumbs. 
A  woman  grown  and  couldn't  spoon  up  fish! 

Fam.  It  was  the  smell.     How  can  they  eat  it,  Lissa? 
Lis.  You'll  eat  it  too. 
Fam.  That?     Never! 

Lis.  Another  week 

Will  starve  you  to  it. 

[Ysobel  comes  out  of  kitchen  bearing  apron  full  of  cups 

and  spoons  which  she  places  on  ground] 
Yso.  [Looking  left]  Here's  Masio  in.    [Enters  hut] 
Lis.  He's  always  first. 

[Masio  comes  up  left]     How  did  my  boy  get  on? 
M as.  I  wasn't  near  him  in  the  field. 
Lis.  He  did 

His  stint? 

Mas.  I  never  heard. 
Lis.  No  eyes,  no  ears, — 

All  belly,  you! 

56 


THE    MORTAL    GODS  57 

Mas.  [Taking  up  spoon  and  cup  from  the  pile]  Fish! 
fish! 

Lis.  Beans  first.     You  know 

The  rules. 

Mas.  I've  teeth  can  break  'em.     Fish,  Famette! 

[Famette  puts  fish  into  his  cup] 
There'll  be  a  blessed  cleaning-up  to-night. 

Lis.  More  beating?     Has  the  master  come? 

Mas.  [Nods]  And  on 

The  rounds.    He'll  clear  the  yards.    News  from  the  north 
Has  turned  him  red  and  black. 

Fam.  A  flogging?     Oh, 

If  you  were  men  you'd  fight  with  your  bare  hands 
Till  you  were  free ! 

Mas.  Free  as  the  dead.     Our  blood 

Would  soak  the  earth  and  make  more  hennequin, — 
That's  all. 

Fam.  Then  run  away. 

Mas.  How  far?     The  swamps? 

To  sleep  with  snakes — a  week  or  less? 

Fam.  Across 

The  ridges. 

Mas.       Where  the  sun  would  lap  you  dry 
As  crackling  cat-guts?     Thirst  would  draw  you  in 
To  th'  next  hacienda  well.     The  masters  own 
The  water,  and  in  this  land,  that's  life. 

Fam.  No  chance? 

They  never  get  away? 

Mas.  Sometimes  a  man 

Makes  Quito,  but  he  soon  comes  back. 

Fam.  Comes  back? 

Mas.  What   else?      In  Quito   there's   no   work.      He 

starves. 

And  here — there's  beans.     So  he  gives  up,  and  then 
They  send  him  back. 


58  'THE    MORTAL    GODS 

Fam.  And  he  is  flogged? 
Mas.  Ay,  till 

His  bones  crack. 

Fam.  Oh!     He  bears  it? 

Mas.  Like  a  man, 

My  dear. 

Fam.  The  coward! 

Mas.  So — back  to  the  field, 

Mute  as  a  snail,  and  poorer  too,  for  then 
The  dream  is  gone  of  any  life  but  this. 
Fam.  They  have  no  spirit — none! 
Mas.  Much  as  you'll  have 

This  time  next  year. 

Fam.  Next  year?     I  shall  be  gone. 

My  debt  was  just  ten  pesos. 

Mas.  [Incredulous]  You  were  sold 

For  that? 

Fam.  I'll  work  it  out. 

Mas.  Be  't  ten  or  hundreds, 

Who  comes  here  stays.     You'll  soon  know  that,  my  bird, 
And  limber  your  fine  neck. 

[As  they  talk,  men  and  women  enter  in  groups  of  scores 
and  dozens  until  there  are  several  hundred  in  the  yard. 
They  are  mostly  of  mixed  blood,  their  color  ranging 
from  the  full  brown  of  the  Maya  to  the  pale  olive  of 
the  Peonian  aristocrat.  At  a  spout,  upper  left,  they 
wash  their  hands,  then  drop  about  wearily.  One  man 
sits  near  Famette,  his  head  sunk  on  his  chest.  She 
lays  her  hand  on  his  shoulder] 
Fam.  What,  Garza,  you? 

Who  were  so  blithe  this  morning,  on  your  way 
To  freedom? 

Garza.  [Rocking]  Mother  of  God!     Oh,  Mother  of  God! 
Fam.  What  is  it,  Garza? 


THE    MORTAL    GODS  59 

Mas.  There  you  have  it!     You  see 

Who  comes  here  stays. 

Fam.  But  he  was  free !     His  friend 

Brought  twenty  pesos  to  pay  off  his  debt. 

Gonzalo.  And  when  he  went  to  pay  it,  on  the  books 
There  stood  two  hundred  pesos  against  Garza. 

Mas.  Two  hundred — twenty, — you  see,  Famette, 
How  much  a  little  "o"  can  do. 

Fam.  They  dare 

Do  that?     I'll  see  the  magistrate!     [The  men  stare  at  her] 

Mas.  [Patting  her  shoulder]  Poor  girl! 

Fam.  I  will!     Why  not?     What  is  he  for? 

Gon.  What  for? 

To  see  we  are  well  beaten  when  we  ask 
For  justice.     He  must  serve  who  pays  him, — that's 
The  master. 

Fam.         Oh,  you  worse  than  slaves ! 

Mas.  No  names, 

My  proudling.     Wait  a  year,  then  what  you  please. 

[The  men  have  been  eating.  Ysobel  stands  in  door  of  hut 
holding  a  great  bowl  of  beans  from  which  the  peons  fill 
their  cups.  Lissa  gives  out  the  fish.  Her  boy,  Iduso, 
crouches  by  her  skirts] 

Lis.  [To  boy]  Not  eat?     Now  you're  a  man?    Twelve 
years  to-day! 

Fam.  [Bending  over  Iduso]  Is't  fever,  Lissa? 

Lis.  [With  sullen  jealousy]  Let  him  be,  Famette. 
What  do  you  know?     You've  got  no  children. 

Fam.  I've 

A  little  brother. 

Lis.  Brother!     Nothing  that. 

Fam.  He's  just  Iduso's  age. 

Lis.  [Softened]  And  has  to  take 

A  man's  work  on  him? 

Fam.  N-o 


60  THE    MORTAL    GODS 

Lis.  I  said  it  now. 

What  do  you  know?    Look  at  your  hands — not  stumps 
Like  mine. 

Mas.  Who  hugs  the  post  to-night? 

Gon.  I  heard 

Of  seven  warned. 

Yso.  My  man!     He  hasn't  come! 

Mas.  God's  mercy,  give  us  peace!     It  was  his  turn 
To  put  away  the  knives. 

[Ysobel  leans  against  hut.     Famette  takes  bowl  from  her] 

Lis.  There's  seven,  you  say? 

Ben.  None  from  this  yard.    Famette,  you  haven't  seen 
A  flogging  yet? 

Fam.  And  never  will,  you  beast ! 

Ben.  Your  never's  short, — less  than  an  hour. 

Fam.  What  do  you  mean? 

Ben.  The  whip  draws  blood  to-night, 

And  we  must  all  look  on,  for  our  soul's  good. 
It  is  the  master's  order. 

Fam.  I'll  not  go! 

Mas.  Why,  God  looks  on,  Famette,  and  so  may  we. 
All  Heaven  sees  it,  and  I'll  pledge  my — fish — 
That  not  an  angel  blanches. 

Gon.  You  should  see 

The  master! 

Fam.  He  is  there?     Does  he  look  on? 

Mas.  O,  not  quite  that.     To  eye  the  work 
Would  show  too  grossly,  but  you'll  see  him  there, — 
Somewhat  aside,  leaning  against  a  yew, 
Most  carefully  at  ease.     Then  he  will  light 
A  delicate  cigar  that  fills  the  grove 
With  a  fantastic  odor,  like,  we'll  say, 
Faint  musk  that  creeps  on  burning  pine. 
You  will  approve  the  quality,  Famette. 
That  is  his  signal. 


THE    MORTAL    GODS  61 

Fam.  Oh! 

Mas.  Long  as  he  puffs, 

And  soft,  white  rings  twirl  upward  to  the  leaves, 
The  lashes  fall.     And  when,  grown  gently  weary, 
As  'twere  half  accident,  from  his  high  thoughts 
Remote,  he  clears  the  cindered  tip — like  this— 
The  whip  is  still. 

Fam.  Where,  where  am  I? 

Mas.  In  hell, 

Sweetheart. 

Fam.  Who  are  you,  Masio?     You  are  not 
As  these  that  suffer  speechless. 

Mas.  Pinch  the  difference! 

A  little  learning,  and  a  few  opinions 
That  brought  me  here. 

Fam.  [Moving  aside  with  him]  What  did  you  do? 

Mas.  I  spoke 

The  truth  too  near  the  ear  of  Cordiaz, 
And  there's  no  greater  crime. 

Fam.  You  are  a  prisoner? 

But  you're  not  guarded. 

Mas.  No,  they  leave  me  free, 
In  hope  I'll  run.     Then  they  will  shoot  me  down. 
And  you — what  brought  you  here?     Ten  pesos 
Could  never  buy  you — nor  a  hundred  either. 

Fam.  I  mean  to  lead  these  men  to  join  Bolderez: 

Mas.  What!     Lead  them  out? 

Fam.  And  you  will  help  me  do  it. 

Mas.  Well,  when  I  want  to  die.     You're  mad. 

We're  all 

Sprats  in  a  net.     You  II  not  get  out,  once  let 
The  master  see  you.     Better  hide  those  eyes 

Yso.  [Running  and  catching  Masio  by  the  shoulder] 

You  lied  to  me!     You  lied!    They've  got  my 
Grija ! 
Down  in  the  lower  yard! 


62  THE    MORTAL    GODS 

Grija.  [Entering  and  making  his  way  to  her]  No!    Here 

I  am. 
Safe  in,  old  tear-box. 

Yso.  Holy  Mary! 

[Tells  her  beads  rapidly  as  he  leads  her  aside] 

Fam.  [Aroused]    Men! 
If  Osa  looked  from  yonder  mountain  scarp, 
Would  she  descend  to  lead  such  currish  hearts 
To  liberty? 

Gon.  We  are  not  dogs. 

Fam.  Then  shame 

To  bear  the  life  of  dogs ! 

Ben.  What  do  you  know 

Of  Osa? 

Fam.  Know?     Does  she  not  guard  the  shrine 
Cherished  ten  centuries  in  your  secret  hills? 
Priestess  and  princess,  daughter  of  your  kings, — 
The  ancient  poet  kings  who  ruled  and  sang 
In  palaces  where  now  your  huddled  huts 
Give  you  a  slave's  foul  shelter! 

A  Voice.  Will  she  come? 

Fam.  To  such  as  you?     With  heads  hung  down,  and 

backs 

Bared  for  the  whip?  The  moment  that  you  hold 
Your  manhood  dearer  than  your  life,  she'll  stand 
Before  you.  Then  you'll  see 

Mas.  For  God's  sake,  hush! 

The  master!  * 

Ben.  [As  all  look  left]  No,  it's  Coquriez. 

Gon.  With  his  Gringo. 

[Coquriez  enters  with  Chartrien.     They  cross  right] 

Cha.  Leave  me  alone. 

Coq.  My  soul,  am  I  not  sick 

Of  your  dumb  lordship?  Now  the  master's  here, 
I  hope,  by  Jesu,  that  our  ways  will  part. 


THE    MORTAL    GODS  63 

[Turns  and  joins  the  men,  leaving  Chartrien  seated  on  the 
stone  step  of  one  of  the  doors  to  the  long  hut,  right. 
Megario  enters  unseen  and  stands  watching,  left.     They 
gradually  become  aware  of  his  presence,  and  all  are  silent] 
Meg.  Coquriez! 
Coq.  [Crossing  left]  Here,  sir! 

[The  tension  relaxes  slightly.  Lissa  and  Ysobel  quietly 
distribute  food  and  the  men  eat  in  silence.  Famette 
keeps  in  shadow,  a  shawl  over  her  head,  and  vainly 
tries  to  hear  what  Megario  and  Coquriez  are  saying. 
They  talk  in  low  tones  at  left,  then  move  centre,  front] 
Coq.  Shoot  the  Gringo,  sir? 

I  thought  he  was  to  live. 

Meg.  It  must  be  done 

To-morrow. 

Coq.          I'll  do  it. 

Meg.  Take  him  on  the  road, 

And  don't  come  back  with  him. 

Coq.  To-morrow,  sir? 

Meg.  At  day-break.     Drop  him  cold.     I  was  a  fool 
To  let  him  live  a  day! 

[Famette  has  advanced  too  far  and  Megario  sees  her] 

Who's  that? 

Coq.  There?     Oh! 

I  bought  her  in  last  week. 
Meg.  The  day  I  left? 

Coq.  I  think  'twas  then. 
Meg.  An  old  one, — so  you  said. 

Coq.  About  the  Gringo,  sir, 

Meg.  What  is  her  name? 

Coq.  Famette. 

[Famette  goes  back  to  the  women] 
Meg.                A  figure  too. 
Coq.  It's  not  so  easy 

To  drop  a  white-skin 


64  THE    MORTAL    GODS 


Come,  Famette!     Come  here. 
[She  turns  and  comes  slowly] 
Old?     By  the  gods!     Why  did  you  lie  to  me? 

Coq.  My  lord you  like  none  past  fourteen. 

She's  that 
Half  over. 

Meg.  Brazen  devil!     Come,  Famette. 
I  like  your  name.     I  like  your  face  too,  girl. 
Don't  be  afraid.     Show  me  your  eyes.     You  won't? 
Where  have  I  seen  you? 

Fam.  I'm  a  stranger,  sir. 

My  home  was  in  the  north. 

Meg.  That  fester-spot ! 

A  stranger?     Then  we  must  be  good  to  you. 
Where  do  you  sleep? 

Fam.  There,  in  the  hut. 

Meg.  You'll  have 

A  better  soon.     Next  time  I'll  see  your  eyes.     [Going] 
Mind,  Coquriez,  to-morrow!     Do  that  well, 
I'll  pardon  this.     [Exit] 

Fam.  What  is't  you  do  to-morrow? 

And  why  do  you  need  pardon?     You  who  serve 
So  well? 

Coq.  My  pretty  bird,  I've  been  too  slow. 

Fam.  Too  slow? 

Coq.  I've  limped,  and  lost. 

Fam.  Ah,  Coquriez! 

Coq.  You're  not  afraid  of  me.     You  look  at  me, 
And  turned  from  him.     That's  honey  on  his  curse! 

Fam.  He  curses  you?     And  you  do  all  for  him! 
All  that  he  asks  you, — things  he  dares  not  do 
With  his  own  hand. 

Coq.  You  care  for  that? 

Fam.  You  risk 

Your  soul,  perhaps, 


THE    MORTAL    GODS  65 

Coq.  Tis  certain.     Pray  for  me, 

Chiquita. 

Fam.  When? 

Coq.  To-morrow  I  must  leave 

The  Gringo  in  the  marshes. 

Fam.  Oh,  'twas  that! 

And  paid  with  curses 

Lis.  [Calls,  as  a  new  batch  of  men  come  in] 
Come,  Famette!     Here's  work! 

Fam.  We'll  talk  again.     [Hurries  to  Lissa] 

A  man.  The  beans  are  cold. 

Another.  Soured  too! 

Gray  Moses,  here's  a  life! 

Mas.  Do  you  complain, 

O,  comrades?     Now  your  hour  is  come?     The  pearl 
O'  the  long  ungamished  day?     The  holy  hour 
Of — beans?     Why,  think!     What  do  we  live  for,  men? 
For  sweaty  moments  battling  'gainst  the  sun 
To  strip  the  thorny  hennequin?     For  nights 
Of  bitten  sleep  in  unwashed  pens?     Not  so. 
Lift  up  your  cups !    Here  is  the  crown  of  toil ! 
Each  day  we  reach  our  life's  supremest  dome, 
And  know  we're  there !     Can  man  ask  more?     Even  kings, 
Though  the  gold  frontal  of  munificence 
Is  bowed  before  them,  yet  must  fretting  guess 
The  morrow's  store.     But  we,  my  friends,  we  know! 
Then  let  each  separate  and  distinct  legume, 
Dear  as  the  Egyptian  treasure  lost  in  wine, 
Delay  as  preciously 

Coq.  [Cutting  him  across  shoulders] 

Come  down  from  that! 

There's  more  for  you,  my  friend,  i'  the  lower  yard. 
I'll  tie  you  up. 

Fam.  O,  Coquriez,  let  him  go. 

You  should  not  care.     His  tongue  was  born  with  him, 
And  God  may  mend  it.     Let  the  fool  alone. 


66  THE    MORTAL    GODS 

Coq.  Hmm,  if  you  ask  me 

Fam.  Thank  you,  Coquriez. 

I'll  stand  for  him  he'll  not  offend  again. 

Mas.  My  tongue  is  glue.     'Twill  stick  to  its  place. 

A  man.  Fish !  fish ! 

Another.  He's  had  his  share. 

The  man.  Not  half  a  cup! 

O,  Jesu,  I  am  starved.     I  did  my  stint, 
And  helped  the  boy,  Famette.     Can  I  do  that 
On  half  a  cup? 

Fam.  No,  Berto,  here  is  more. 

Yso.  The  Gringo  does  not  eat. 

Fam.  I'll  take  him  this. 

[Fills  cup  from  bowl  of  beans  and  goes  to  Chartrien,  who  is 
still  seated  on  the  step,  listless  and  observing  nothing] 

Fam.  Senor? 

Cha.          Who  spoke?     O,  you,  Famette?     No,  thanks. 
I  can  not  eat.    [Turns  from  her]    That's  twice  I've  heard 

the  voice 
Of  Hernda.     Madness  creeps,  but  surely  comes. 

Fam.  [Over  his  shoulder]  You  must  escape  to-night. 

Cha.  [Facing  her]  Escape?     To-night? 

Fam.  Here,  hold  the  cup,  and  eat.     Do,  sir!     We're 

watched. 

To-morrow  Coquriez  leads  you  to  the  woods, 
Comes  back  alone 

Cha.  At  last  I  know  my  hour. 

Fam.  But  you  shall  live.     Last  night  I  worked  till  day 
At  that  locked  gate.     5Tis  open.     None  suspects. 
Outside  there's  water  in  a  flask,  and  bread, — 
Beneath  the  cactus  at  the  left 

Cha.  But  how 

Get  out?     I  am  locked  in  at  night,  and  watched 
At  other  hours. 

Fam.  Eat,  eat,  and  listen,  Senor! 

To-night  a  flogging  in  the  lower  yard 


THE    MORTAL    GODS  67 

Will  empty  this.     You'll  go  with  Coquriez. 
Urge  him  to  bring  you  back.     Say  you  are  ill, — 
For  that  you  are, — and  come.     Here  I  shall  hide, 
And  as  you  pass,  will  suddenly  step  out 
And  speak  to  Coquriez.     You  fall  behind, 
In  shadow  of  my  hut,  move  round  it,  wait 
This  side,  then  see  what's  next  to  do. 

A  man.  [Calling]  Famette? 

Where  is  Famette?     She  doesn't  count  the  beans. 
[Famette  goes  back  to  the  men] 

Cha.  It  is  a  lure.     If  I  attempt  escape, 
Then  Coquriez  shoots  me  dead,  his  soul  just  clear 
Of  murder. 

Coq.  [To  Famette]  Our  Gringo's  learned  to  eat,  I  see. 

Cha.  Now  do  they  change  confederate  nods,  and  gaze 
Their  mated  thoughts.     Down,  down  to  dust,  my  heart! 
The  struggle's  off.     I'll  fight  no  more.     Yon  stars 
Have  rest  for  me.     Is't  so?     Vain  footing  there. 
What  rest  have  they,  that  share  with  man  the  surge 
From  life  to  life?     There  Jupiters  unfound 
Whirl  cooling  till  their  straining  sides  may  bear 
Ocean  and  land  and  clinging  bride  of  green; 
And  Saturns,  nameless  yet,  cast  travailing 
Their  ringed  refulgence.     Not  the  frozen  moons 
May  fix  in  stillness,  but  sweep  captive  back 
To  flaming  centres  when  their  planets  call. 
There  old,  dead  suns,  that  think  their  work  is  done, 
Meet  crashing,  ground  to  cloudy  fire  whose  worlds, 
Far  driven,  traverse  time  and  know  men's  days. 
Ay,  one  may  go  beyond  the  ether's  breath, 
Farthest  of  all,  to  be  another  First, 
Undreaming  this  our  God.     And  I  must  shift 
Eternal  and  unresting  as  those  suns. 
Then  let  Death  hasten.     He  shall  be  as  one 
Who  timely  strips  a  wrestler  of  his  cloak, 


68  THE    MORTAL    GODS 

And,  kindly  freed,  I  shall  uncumbered  leap 
To  other  battle,  finding  armor  where 
I  find  my  cause. 

A  man.  [To  Famette]  My  turn.     Here,  give  me  that. 

Fam.  The  Gringo's  had  no  fish. 

The  man.  Then  give  me  his. 

He  doesn't  care.     Has  run  already  from 
The  smell. 

Fam.  I'll  give  you  half.     The  rest 
I'll  take  to  him. 

Coq.  He'll  come  for  what  he  wants. 

Fam.  No,  he  is  sick,  poor  devil !     [Goes  to  Chartrien] 

Coq.  Humph ! 

Fam.  [To  Chartrien]  You'll  take 

The  chance?     There  is  no  other. 

Cha.  It's  a  trap. 

You  risk  your  life  for  me,  a  Gringo?     No. 

Fam.  You  must  believe  me !     Oh,  what  can  I  say ! 

Cha.  Say  nothing.     Go. 

Fam.  I  love  you,  love  you,  Senor! 

Cha.  You  would  persuade  me. 

Fam.  Sir,  the  wine  you  found 

Behind  your  prison  door, — and  good,  clean  bread, — 
I  put  them  there! 

Cha.  'Twas  you,  Famette?     I  thought 

That  Coquriez  did  it, — feared  I'd  die  before 
The  master  came. 

Fam.                  Not  his  brute  heart !    And  then 
That  night  of  fever 

Cha.  Yes!     What  then? 

Fam.  I  lay 

Outside  your  jail,  my  head  against  the  wall, 
That  I  might  hear  if  once  you  groaned,  or  know 
If  sleep  had  come. 

Cha.  Can  such  love  be  for  me? 


THE    MORTAL    GODS  69 

Fam.  You  must — you  must  believe  me! 

Cha.  God,  your  eyes! 

[She  lowers  her  head] 

'Tis  madness,  bred  of  these  sun-poisoned  days, 

And  nights  without  a  hope Look  up,  Famette. 

I  do  believe  you. 

Fam.  [Kissing  her  rosary]  Mother,  adored  and  blessed! 

Cha.  Wilt  be  a  beggar  soldier's  bride,  Famette? 

Fam.  You  do  not  love  me,  Senor. 

Cha.  But  I  love 

Your  gentle  heart  that  warms  mine  empty, — love 
Your  eyes,  like  memories  burning, — and  your  voice 
That's  linked  to  an  old  wound  in  me, — but  most 
I  love  your  soul  that  is  as  great  as  truth 
And  strong  as  sacrifice.     You'll  come  to  me 
In  Quito,  if  I  make  escape?     I'll  find 
A  way  to  bring  you  out 

Fam.  You're  mine? 

Cha.  Till  death. 

Fam.  And  after  that? 

Cha.  I'll  give  you  truth  for  truth. 

Beyond  this  world  I  hope  to  meet  a  soul 
Who  did  not  walk  in  this,  but  ought  to  have, 
For  here  her  body  dwelt.     This  side  of  death, 
My  life — a  bitter  one,  that  only  you 
Have  sweetened — is  your  own,  if  you  will  have 
So  mean  a  gift. 

[Ipparro  has  entered  the  yard  and  becomes  a  centre  of  al- 
tercation. He  starts  out  taking  Lissa's  boy,  Iduso. 
There  is  a  shriek  from  Lissa,  and  Famette  hurries  to 
her] 

Lis.  My  boy!    My  little  one! 

God  strike  you  dead,  Ipparro ! 

Fam.  You'll  not  flog 

The  boy? 


70  THE    MORTAL    GODS 

Ipp.  He  didn't  do  his  stint  by  half. 
You  know  the  master's  rules.     He's  twelve  years  old. 
Must  cut  three  thousand  leaves. 

Fam.  A  man's  full  work. 

And  he's  so  small. 

Lis.  And  sick  he  is.     Two  days 

He  couldn't  eat. 

Ipp.  You  women! 

Fam.  Let  him  go. 

A  little  child,  Ipparro. 

Ipp.  Let  him  go? 

Am  I  the  master  of  the  hacienda? 
He'll  tie  me  up  to-morrow! 

Fam.  It  will  kill 

Iduso. 

Lis.  Such  a  little  one,  he  is! 
A  baby  yesterday, — to-day  a  man, — 
How  can  that  be? 

[An  overseer  enters  left] 

Overseer.  What's  up?     Come  on  with  you ! 

The  master  waits, — burns  like  perdition!     Come! 
Come,  all  of  you !     The  women  too !     Clear  out ! 

[Drives  them  out.  Famette  slips  into  her  hut.  Chartrien 
joins  the  men  and  follows  last  with  Coquriez.  They 
stop  left] 

Coq.  Won't  see  the  show? 

Cha.  I'll  not  go  on. 

Coq.  Come  then. 

I'll  lock  you  up.     [They  turn  back] 

We'll  have  an  early  march 

To-morrow,  mate.     Must  hit  the  brush  by  dawn. 
There's  little  sleep  for  me. 

Cha.  Shall  I  have  more 

In  that  hot  pen? 

Coq.  [Laughs]  You'll  make  it  up,  I  guess. 


THE    MORTAL    GODS  71 

Cha.  I  understand.     You'll  murder  me. 

Coq.  My  soul! 

Let's  keep  our  manners,  though  we  sit  in  helL 
My  occupation's  decent,  nothing  said. 
The  silent  deed  is  clean,  but  mouth  it  once, 
The  hands  will  smell.     Pah! 

[Famette  steps  out  of  hut] 

Here's  my  kitten! 
A  kiss,  my  honey-pot! 

Fam.  I've  better  for  you. 

[Gives  him  a  bottle  of  wine] 

Coq.  My  ducky!    From  the  master's  cellar! 
How 

Fam.  No  matter.     It  is  good. 

Coq.  Thief  of  my  soul, 

A  kiss! 

[As  he  attempts  to  embrace  her  she  springs  back,  pointing 
left] 

Fam.  Look,  look!    He's  gone!    The  Gringo  flies! 
O,  Coquriez,  you'll  be  shot! 

Coq.  [Stunned  for  a  moment,  springs  off  shouting] 

Help!     Stop  him!    Help!    [Exit  left,  firing  his  pistol] 
The  Gringo !     Stop  him ! 

[Famette  runs  to  gate  right,  where  Chartrien  is  removing 
bar] 

Cha.  Come!    Fly  with  me!    Now! 

I  can  not  leave  you  here! 

Fam.  Go!    Do  not  stop, 

However  weary,  till  you're  safe  in  Quito. 
The  wounded  hare,  remember,  takes  no  nap. 

Cha.  Come,  come! 

Fam.  No,  I  am  safe.     And  there's  more  work 

For  me.     They'll  come  back  here  to  search.     Nay,  go ! 
Another  moment  and  we  both  shall  die! 


72  THE    MORTAL    GODS 

Cha.  [Kissing  her]  I'll  wait  in  Quito, — then  a  husband's 
kiss! 

[Goes.     Famette  puts  up  bar,  then  returns  to  her  hut  and 
sinks  at  door] 

Fam.  If  I  could  pray!     If  I  could  pray!     How  far 
Seems  that  old  God  I  knew !     A  playhouse  God 
Who  never  saw  the  world !     [Leaps  up] 

They're  coming  back! 

[Sits  again,  abjectly,  her  shawl  over  her  head.     Megario, 
Coquriez,  and  peons,  enter] 

Meg.  Where  is  the  woman? 

Coq.  There  she  sits, — the  witch! 

Meg.  Stand  up!    Take  off  that  shawl! 

[Famette  stands  up.     A  man  snatches  the  shawl  from  her 
head] 

Meg.  Famette!    Not  you? 

Fam.  [Cowering]  I,  master. 

Meg.  [To  men]  Search  the  yard.     Turn  every  leaf 

And  stone. 

[The  men  scatter] 

Mas.  I'll  give  that  gate  a  look.     [Crosses  to  gate  right] 

Meg.  This  was 

Your  drooping  modesty!     [Turns  on  Coquriez] 

You  fool!— to  let 

The  man  escape !     By  Heaven,  you  might  have  burnt 
The  hacienda  down  and  not  have  made 
My  blood  so  hot! 

Coq.                   It  was  the  woman,  sir. 
She  jumped  before  me,  smiling  like  a  devil, 
And  when  I  tried  to  pass  she  caught  my  knees 
And  held  this  thing  up,  saying  'twas  for  me. 
I  kicked  her  off 

Meg.  No  doubt! 

Coq.  And  when  I  turned 

The  prisoner  was  gone. 


THE    MORTAL    GODS  73 

Meg.  [To  Famette]      You  saw  him  go? 

Fam.  Yes,  master.     Through  the  gate,  like  wings.    And 

then 
I  gave  the  warning.     Coquriez  knows  I  did. 

Meg.  What  did  she  say? 

Coq.  She  cried  "  The  Gringo  flies ! " 

And  pointed  there. 

Mas.  [Returning]  The  upper  gate  is  fast. 
He  went  that  way.  [Nods  left]  Beneath  the  cypresses 
Into  the  maguey  fields. 

A  man.  He'll  not  get  far. 

He  has  no  water. 

Meg.  He  will  die  in  th'  brush, 

And  I  shall  never  know  it.  Alive  or  dead, 
He  must  be  found.  I'll  flog  a  man  a  day, 
Until  I  see  his  bones. 

Gon.  [Coming  up]  He  is  not  here. 
We've  looked  in  all  the  huts. 

Meg.  Ipparro? 

Ipp.  Sir! 

Meg.  Send  men  abroad,  for  fifty  miles  about, 
To  put  the  haciendas  on  the  watch. 
He  must  come  in  for  water.     Choose  good  men, 
Who  ride,  and  see  no  wenches  by  the  way. 

Coq.  My  lord,  I've  served  you  long— 

Meg.  Too  long,  you  hound! 

Where  is  your  lady's  token? 

Coq.  This,  my  lord. 

She  thrust  it  in  my  hand. 

Meg.  And  left  it  too! 

Coq.  I  knew  'twas  yours. 

Meg.  [To  Famette]  A  thief  too,  are  you? 

[Famette  crouches,  drawing  shawl  over  her  head] 

Meg.  True, 

Coquriez,  you  have  served  me  long.     I'll  add 
You've  served  me  well  until  to-night. 


74  THE    MORTAL    GODS 

Coq.  O,  pardon! 

M eg.  I  trusted  you.     And  held  your  hand  as  mine, 
To  make  my  wishes  deeds. 

Coq.  'Tis  sworn  your  own! 

Meg.  Then  prove  it.     Take  this  whip.     Come,  take  it, 

man! 
Now  flog  that  witch. 

Coq.  Famette!     A  woman,  sir? 

Meg.  The  devil's  second  name  is  woman.     Do  it! 

Coq.  A  heavy  hand  I've  laid  on  men,  my  lord, 
But  never  yet 

M  eg.  Her  smile  struck  deep  to  make 
Such  putty  of  your  heart. 

[Coquriez  drops  whip]     Pick  up  that  whip ! 
You  want  its  kisses,  do  you?     Pick  it  up, 
Or  you  shall  feel  them  to  your  traitor  bones! 
I'll  have  you  flogged  together! 

[Coquriez  slowly  picks  up  whip.     Famette  rises,  throwing 
off  her  shawl] 

Fam.  Hear  me,  men! 

For  men  you  are, — not  beasts.     Your  hands  are  strong 
In  ceaseless  toil.     Day  after  day  you  pile 
Your  master's  wealth  more  high.     Day  after  day 
You  sweat  your  way  a  little  nearer  death, 
That  he  may  kick  your  bodies  from  his  path 
And  set  your  graves  in  hennequin.     But  know 
Who  toils  may  fight !     The  hand  that  lifts  a  spade 
May  bear  a  sword.     The  strength  you  give  to  him, 
Use  for  yourselves.     Your  master  is  one  man, 
You  are  five  hundred 

Meg.  Gods!     I'll  stop  your  mouth! 

You  men  there — go — you  dozen  at  the  gate — 
Go  to  the  dry-yard — load  your  backs  with  fibre — 
And  bring  it  here ! 

[Men  go  out] 


THE    MORTAL    GODS  75 

I'll  teach  you  now,  you  slaves! 
You  are  five  hundred — yes — and  I  am  one, 
But  in  me  is  the  might  of  Goldusan! 
The  power  of  Cordiaz  is  in  my  whip, 
And  back  of  that  is  iron*Hudibrand! 
Kill  me  to-night,  to-morrow  you  shall  die, 
Each  dog  of  you, — you  know  it ! 

[ Men  come  in  with  fibre] 

Throw  the  stuff 

Against  the  hut.     There,  pile  it  up.     More,  more! 
Now,  Coquriez,  the  gentle,  you've  refused 
To  ruffle  your  fond  dove, — here's  sweeter  work, 
And  for  no  hand  but  yours.     Put  her  within, 
Then  fire  the  hut.     [Utter  silence] 

What  terror's  on  you,  beasts? 
Coq.  In  God's  name,  sir,  you  dare  not! 
M eg.  In  the  name 

Of  all  who  know  how  power  is  kept,  I  dare ! 
Move  there,  you  dog! 

[Coquriez  stands  motionless] 
Do  you  refuse  again? 

Then  ....  in  your  heart.     [Shoots.     Coquriez  falls  dead] 
Who'll  be  the  next  to  stand  on  feet  of  lead 
When  I  say  "Do?"     Gonzalo!     Garza!     Out! 

[The  men  do  not  move.     Megario  lifts  his  pistol] 
Fam.  Spare  them,  Megario.     I'll  go  in. 

[Enters  hut,  closing  door] 

Meg.  [Trembling]  That  voice! 

Who    is     this     woman?      Speak!      Who     knows?     I've 
heard.  .  .  . 

Bah!     I'm  a  fool! Take  up  that  lantern  there, 

Gonzalo.     Break  it  on  the  fibre.     Move! 

[He  stands  with  his  weapon  drawn.  The  door  of  the  hul 
is  thrown  open  and  Famette  appears.  She  wears  a  rich 
robe,  gleaming  white,  with  blue  and  gold  cabalistic  broid- 


76  THE    MORTAL    GODS 

ery.  In  her  hand  is  a  sceptre,  on  her  head  a  crown  with 
a  single  star.  The  men,  with  cries  of  "Osa!  Osa!" 
fall  upon  their  knees,  foreheads  to  ground,  then  leap  up, 
changed,  and  glaring.  They  seem  ready  to  spring  upon 
Megario] 

Fam.  Shoot  now,  Megario !     [Silence] 

You  dare  not  do  it! 

Kill  me, — kill  one  of  them, — shoot  till  your  weapon 
Pants  its  last  murder,  and  a  hundred  hands 
Will  tear  you  limb  from  limb  and  bone  from  bone, 
Till  every  separate  shred  of  you  be  cast 
To  its  own  devil!     Shoot,  Megario! 

[His  hand  falls.     Famette  steps  into  the  yard] 
Where  are  the  masters  who  can  help  you  now? 
The  mighty  ones  who  know  how  power  is  kept? 
Look  on  these  men.     Their  blood  sings  as  it  sang 
Through  centuries  gone, — with  courage  that  was  theirs 
Ere  ships  came  up  like  night  on  this  doomed  coast 
Unloading  hell ! 

Meg.  Who  are  you,  woman?     Who? 

Fam.  The  spirit  of  these  people,  absent  long, 
But  come  at  last  to  be  their  hearts*  old  fire. 
Four  hundred  years  you've  trampled  on  their  bodies, 
But  see — look  in  their  eyes — you  have  not  slain 
Their  God. 

Meg.  Your  name!     Who  are  you? 

Fam.  Riven  hills 

May  hide  the  shrine  of  long  unsceptred  kings, 
And  keep  their  royal  secret  year  by  year. 

Voices.  Hail,  Osa!     Osa,  queen! 

Meg.  What  do  you  want? 

Fam.  Three  things,  Megario. 

Meg.  What  are  they? 

Fam.  First,— 

That  I  may  pass  from  here,  free  as  I  came, 
With  every  soul  that  will  go  out  with  me. 


THE    MORTAL    GODS  77 

Meg.  The  way  is  open.     Go. 

Fam.  And  you  with  us. 

Far  as  the  coast,  where  willing  transport  waits 
To  bear  us  northward.     Then  you  may  go  free. 

[Turns  to  the  people] 

There  brothers  wait  you,  men, — there  freedom's  tongue 
Is  beacon  fire.     The  whole  of  northland  sings, 
A  canticle  of  flame.     You'll  go  with  me? 

Mas.  [Loudly]  We'll  follow  Osa! 

Voices.  Osa!     Osa!     On! 

Fam.  Gonzalo,  choose  you  men,  a  thrifty  score, 
To  fill  the  water- jars  and  get  us  food 
From  the  hacienda  stores 

[Gonzalo  passes  out,  men  following  at  his  signal] 

The  third  demand, 
Megario,  is  this.  That  key  you  belt 
So  close — 

[Megario  claps  hand  on  key] 

Yes,  that, — it  must  be  mine,  to  unlock 
A  dungeon  here  and  free  a  prisoner 
Whom  you  for  love  of  torture  keep  alive. 

M eg.  No,  that's  a  lie. 

Fam.  Deny  it  to  the  stars 

That  saw  you  yesternight  steal  up  like  crime 
To  a  dark  grating,  saw  you  gloat,  and  fling 
The  crumbs  that  will  not  let  your  victim  die, 
Though  scarce  they  give  him  life. 

Meg.  [Gasping]  A  lie! 

Fam.  The  key, 

Megario. 

Meg.  I  will  not 

Fam.  In  my  hand! 

[Megario  takes  key  from  his  belt  and  hands  it  to  her] 
I  thank  thee,  God,  my  hand  may  turn  the  key 
That  frees  Rejan  LeVal !     Now  forward,  men ! 


78  THE    MORTAL    GODS 

O,  glorious  to  be  men!     Ipparro,  walk 
Beside  our  prisoner.     Garza,  be  his  aid. 
Two  days  of  marching,  then  the  friendly  sea. 
And  if  you  toil  again  amid  these  fields, 
You'll  take  the  fruit.     On! 

Men.  Osa!     To  the  sea! 

[Curtain] 


ACT  IV 

SCENE  :    The  Grove  of  Peace,  as  in  second  act.     Late  after- 
noon.    Two  officers  meet  as  curtain  rises. 

First  Off.  So  Cordiaz  is  fallen. 

Second  Off.  Joggled  down 

At  last,  poor  man! 

First  Off.  When  all  the  ghosts  he  made 

Come  back  to  weep  his  fall,  I'll  swell  the  flood 
With  half  a  tear,  no  more. 

Second  Off.  Then  you're  for  Vardas? 

First  Off.  By  glory,  no!     He'll  open  Goldusan 
To  every  thief  that  knocks. 

Second  Off.  Trust  Hudibrand 

To  guard  the  door.     Till  he  has  plucked  the  goose, — 
Then  they  may  shave  it  for  their  part. 

First  Off.  So,  friend? 

Second  Off.  Phut!     Goldusan's  his  box  of  snuff — held 

so — 
And  as  he  pleases,  tchew! — 'tis  empty. 

First  Off.  Come, 

I'll  walk  your  way.     [They  move,  right] 

What  of  this  truce?     Goes  't  deep? 

Second  Off.  As  flattery  may  plough.     It  is  our  croon 
Of  compliment  to  our  new-seated  king. 

First  Off.  Nay,  president.     We're  a  republic  now. 

Second  Off.  Spell 't  king  or  president,  it  means  the  same. 

First  Off.  But  with  Bolderez  ours,  the  truce  should  last. 

Second  Off.  Why,  't  may,  till  night.     Bolderez,  friend, 
Is  not  the  revolution. 

79 


80  THE    MORTAL    GODS 

First  Off.  He's  the  heft  of  't, 

And  's  made  a  full  surrender. 

Second  Off.  Made  his  terms! 

His  officers  are  guardians  of  the  State, 
And  he — he's  stallion  of  the  court,  submits 
To  curb  and  comb  that  he  may  prouder  prance 
And  keep  the  herd  at  stare.     Surrender?     Lord! 
I  think  it! 

[Enter  Third  Officer,  from,  left] 

Third  Off.  What's  stirring,  friends? 

Second  Off.  Sleep-walkers. 

Third  Off.  Ay, 

This  amnesty  makes  idlers. 

Second  Off.  So  to-day, 

But  work  brews  for  to-morrow. 

Third  Off.  You've  a  secret, 

And  I've  a  guess  that  picks  the  lock  to  't. 

Second  Off.  Come! 

These  leaves  are  listeners. 

[They  go  off,  lower  right.     Enter  by  path  upper  right, 
Senora  Ziralay  and  Guildamour] 

GUI.  To  find  you  here 

Makes  my  best  hope  a  sluggard,  far  outgone 
By  th'  dear  event. 

Sen.  I  came  five  days  ago, 

The  princess  with  me,  here  to  wait  return 
Of  Hudibrand.     That  you  have  come  with  him, 
Makes  sober  welcome  blithe. 

GUI.  He's  slack  in  health. 

Sen.  That's  written  plain. 

GUI.  What  iron's  in  the  man 

That  he  yet  lives? 

Sen.  He's  been  in  conclave? 

GUI.  Yes. 

Five  nights  he  routed  sleep  from  th'  drowsy  synod, 


THE    MORTAL    GODS  81 

And  hung  upon  us  turning  every  flank, 

Till  Protest  paled  and  Patience  bled  at  heart. 

Sen.  And  at  the  end? 

GUI.  He  held  our  sealed  bonds, 

And  Vardas  sat  secure. 

Sen.  The  bonds?     We  own 

Our  railways  now? 

GUI.  We  do.     And  Hudibrand 

Owns  us, — that  is,  the  bonds.     A  good,  stout  noose 
For  a  nation's  neck. 

Sen.  And  all  these  days  he's  been 

In  th'  capital? 

GUI.  In  closest  session,  though 

A  stage-fed  rumor  held  that  he  was  gone 
From  Goldusan.     The  harried  people  fear 
Assarian  power,  and  on  the  jealous  watch, 
Keep  Hudibrand  in  burrow. 

Sen.  He's  gay-blown 

With  confidence.     I  hear  from  Ziralay 
He  made  a  careless  peace  with  all  the  friends 
Of  tottering  Cordiaz. 

GUI.  That  carelessness 

Was  sea-deep  cunning.     Favors  will  go  high, 
They'll  find.     Megario  gave  full  half  his  lands 
For  place  in  th'  Cabinet. 

Sen.                               Megario  moved 
In  blaze  of  censure,  and  did  well  to  escape 
Singed  of  but  half  his  goods.     Two  prisoners  lost 

GUI.  Ah,  Chartrien  and 

Sen.  Rejan! 

GUI.  Be  guarded  here. 

Fate  rustles  at  that  name. 

Sen.  O,  Guildamour, 

Fear  is  the  silent  warder  that  divides 
Our  secret  hearts.     Give  it  the  tongue  of  daring, 


82  THE    MORTAL    GODS 

And  like  a  blest  interpreter  'twill  bring 
Our  hopes  together. 

GUI.  There  is  stir  within. 

Come  from  these  walls,  Senora.     And  if  your  hope 
Is  on  the  road  with  mine,  I've  news  will  make 
The  wayside  sing.     Winds  gather  here  and  yon 
That  may  out-swagger  even  Hudibrand. 

[They  go  back  along  cascade  path,  as  Hudibrand,  Diraz, 
Mazaran,  and  Golifet  come  out  of  house} 

Gol.  [Holding  up  letter]  Nay,  fearless  majesty  might  take 

more  note 
Of  this  despatch. 

Hud.  That  beggar's  mewl? 

Gol.  There's  power 

In  every  word.     LeVal  must  harbor  strength 
We  do  not  know  of. 

Hud.  Tush!    That  is  the  vaunt 

Of  weakness,  not  of  power. 

Maz.  What  is't  he  says? 

Gol.  Avers  him  free  of  this  imposed  truce, 
And  gives  a  fair  foe's  warning  he'll  attack 
Whene'er  and  how  he  can. 

Maz.  Well  bragged. 

Dir.  His  guns, 

No  doubt,  are  cooler  than  his  pen. 

Maz.  What  more? 

Gol.  Repudiates  Bolderez,  and  declares 
Himself  the  head  of  the  Insurrectionists, 
Sole  authorized  to  speak  and  treat  for  them. 
My  lord,  what  shall  I  answer? 

Hud.  Answer?     Humph! 

Treat  with  a  rag-pole?     We'll  not  sag  to  that. 

[Re-enter,  right,  Senora  and  Guildamour] 

Hud.  My  dear  Senora,  is  our  freakish  daughter 
In  hiding  from  us?     We've  not  had  her  greeting. 


THE    MORTAL    GODS  83 

Sen.  She  knew  you  close  engaged,  my  lord,  and  left 
The  hour  to  you.     I'll  tell  her  of  your  pleasure. 

Hud.  My  steps  are  yours.     [To  his  companions] 

Each  where  he  would,  my  friends. 
[Goes  in  with  Senora] 

Dir.  I'm  for  a  swim. 

Gol.  And  I. 

Maz.  The  river?     With  you ! 

Gol.  [Leading  left]  Bolderez'  men  are  gathering  opposite, 
Behind  the  river  woods. 

Maz.  The  pick  of  camps. 

Gol.  They  know  it  too.     There's  water,  and  the  trees 
Are  cool  and  friendly. 

Dir.  Was  it  not  resolved 

Bolderez'  men  should  join  the  Federal  Guards? 

Gol.  They  do,  in  th'  main.     This  is  a  straggling  wing 
Left  in  the  hills,  that  we  have  given  leave 
To  station  here. 

Dir.  That's  prudence  too. 

Maz.  Why  so? 

Dir.  I'm  windward  of  a  whisper. 

Gol.  About  LeVal? 

Dir.  He's  circling  in.     Let  Hudibrand  laugh  low 
Or  the  enemy  will  hear  him. 

Gol.  This  LeVal 

Was  dead  and  buried, — three  months  out  of  life, — 
Shook  from  remembrance  as  the  stalest  clutter, — 
Now,  save  our  eyes,  he's  jumped  alive  and  rides 
Our  foremost  thought !     Enough  to  send  a  man 
Back  to  his  marrows.     I  shall  pray  to-night. 

Maz.  A  plunge  for  resolution!     That  will  cool  it. 

[Exeunt  lower  left.     Senora  comes  out  of  house  and  crosses 
to  seat,  right] 


84  THE    MORTAL    GODS 

Sen.  'Tis  five  o'clock.     No  sign !     But  he  will  come. 
He  comes! 

[Enter  Chartrien,  lower  right.     They  meet  silently  and 
clasp  hands] 

Cha.  My  friend !     I  thought  you  far  from  here. 
Safe  in  the  capital.     But  nothing's  strange 
To  those  who've  moved  mid  miracles.     You've  seen 
LeVal? 

Sen.  I  have. 

Cha.  I  long  to  greet  him.     O, 

Such  walking  of  the  dead  renews  the  earth 
And  makes  it  habitable!     I  have  heard 
It  was  Famette  who  saved  him, — added  that 
To  array  of  deeds  that  must  unlaurel  all 
The  heroines  of  time. 

Sen.  There'll  be  an  hour 

To  talk  of  that.     Now  you  must  see  the  princess. 

Cha.  Hernda  is  with  you?     Here! 

Sen.  And  Hudibrand. 

No  danger  there.     He  wants  you  now,  and  says 
You'll  find  good  grass  if  you  will  leap  the  stile. 

Cha.  [Answering   her   smile]  So   blind   as   that?     Poor 

mole,  he's  been  in  th'  ground 
Too  long.     Will  never  get  his  eyes. 

Sen.  Ay,  he'll 

Deny  the  sun  till 't  bakes  him  in  his  burrow. 
But  Hernda, — O,  what  welcome  waits  you,  friend! 
The  ivory-crusted  temple,  shut  and  sealed 
To  eternal  airs,  is  now  a  fane  of  rose, 
Whose  cloistral  stairs,  that  wound  so  futilely, 
Will  now  through  fragrant  twilight  lead  you  up 
To  windowed  Heaven.     Come !     Come,  take  your  own ! 

Cha.  No!     Wait.  .  .  . 

Sen.  A  lover  speaks  that  word? 

Cha.  Sefiora, 


THE    MORTAL    GODS  85 

Sen.  That  wound  she  gave  you  here  is  open  yet? 
But  you  were  wrong,  and  with  your  wretched  doubts 
Assailed  her  in  the  hour  she  lay  on  rack 
To  save  you. 

Cha.  On  rack  for  me?     She  gave  me  up. 
Gave  me  to  him, — Megario, — knowing  that 
Meant  death. 

Sen.  And  yet  you  live. 

Cha.  I—? 

Sen.  Live.     Do  you  not  know 

You  were  to  die  that  night? 

Cha.  I've  heard. 

Sen.  Those  hours 

She  gained  for  you  meant  life. 

Cha.  She  gained  for  me? 

I  saw  his  lips  on  hers. 

Sen.  You  did.     And  I— 

I  saw  her  face.     The  dead  are  warmer.     She 
Could  bear  that  touch  for  your  sake,  and  on  that 
Bore  too  your  curse. 

Cha.  For  me?     I'll  hear  no  more, 

Sefiora. 

Sen.  You  will  see  her  now? 

Cha.  Not  now, 

Nor  ever.     I  am  here  by  pledge,  to  meet — 
A  friend. 

[Masio  enters  lower  right] 

Sen.  Is  this — the  man? 

Cha.  No,  but  I  know  him. 

He's  seeking  me,  I  think. 

Sen.  I'll  leave  you  then. 

Cha.  [Seizing  her  hands]  Nothing  to  Hernda! 

Sen.  Nothing.     You  and  she 

For  what  may  come.     [Goes  in] 

Cha.  You,  Masio?    From  Famette? 


86  THE    MORTAL    GODS 

Mas.     No,  from  the  camp. 

Cha.  The  camp!     But  she  is  there? 

Mas.  That's   guessing,   sir.     There's   fernseed   on  her 

wings. 

She  flits  invisible,  then  bat  your  eyes 
You  see  her. 

Cha.  I've  her  word  she'd  meet  me  here. 

Mas.  Queer  place.     You  come  from  Quito? 

Cha.  Yes.  'Twas  there 

I  had  her  letter  making  this  strange  tryst. 
I've  travelled  from  that  hour.     Famette  has  left 
Her  name  upon  the  air,  and  all  the  way 
I  heard  it. 

Mas.  She's  the  bird  of  courage,  dares 
Go  far  as  our  LeVal  himself.     But  here's 
What  brought  me,  sir.     [Gives  Chartrien  a  letter] 
'Tis  from  LeVal. 

Cha.  His  hand! 

His  living  hand !     [Reads,  pales,  and  stands  silent] 

Mas.  Bad,  sir? 

Cha.  No,  good.     'Tis  good. 

Mas.  Then  I'll  be  off.     My  head's  no  show  variety, 
But  I'd  not  trust  it  long  in  th'  grove  of  Peace. 
We'll  see  you  soon  in  camp? 

Cha.  To-night,  I  hope. 

Famette  holds  key  to  that. 

Mas.  The  first  star  bring  you !  [Exit] 

Cha.  [Reads  letter]  When  you  see  the  princess  Hernda, 
kiss  for  me  the  hand  that  gave  me  freedom.  It  was  she 
unlocked  my  dungeon  and  nursed  my  bones  to  life.  What 
I  am  is  hers,  and  therefore  yours.  Le  Vol. 

Hast  grown  so  spent,  O  Fortune,  that  one  stroke 
Must  deal  both  death  and  life? — with  hand  that  parts 
The  night,  show  too  my  rainbow  loss?  ....  All,  all 


THE    MORTAL    GODS  87 

My  future  sold  to  the  gray  usurer  Grief, 
Who  gathers  up  as  sapped  and  withered  leaves 
Time's  unimagined  buds!     No  eve,  no  dawn 
With  Hernda!     No  brief  night  that  makes 
The  sun  unwelcome  as  he  golds  desire, 
The  warm  mist-flower  where  we  lie  its  heart! 
Unbrace  thee  here,  my  courage!     Valiancy, 
First  god  and  last  in  man,  unbuckle  here! 
.  .  .  .  How  meet  Famette?     Smile  on  her  smiles?     De- 
ceive 

Her  love?     She'll  lay  her  head  upon  my  heart 
And  hear  it  crying  "Hernda!"  ....  Hernda  lost! 
I  must  not  dream  here  open  to  the  risk 
Of  her  unanswered  eyes.     Their  lure  would  make 
Dishonor,  that  on  wreck  feeds  rampant,  spring 
Unshamed  in  me.     I  would  forsake  Famette. 

[Goes  right,  upper  path.     Hernda  comes  from  house  and 
crosses  rapidly  to  him] 

Her.  Chartrien!     Come!     [He  turns  slowly  and  meets 

her]     You  take  my  hand,  here  where 
You  wished  me  dead? 

Cha.  That  you  have  offered  it 

Proves  me  forgiven. 

Her.  You  forgiven?     Ah, 

Has  my  atonement  swollen  above  my  fault 
Till  I  may  nod  a  pardon  where  I  thought 
To  kneel  for  one? 

Cha.  LeVal  has  written  me.     [Kisses  her  hand] 

This  kiss  is  his  salute,  and  that  'tis  his, 
Not  mine,  makes  my  lips  bold  to  leave  it  here. 

Her.  Forgiven!     Dawn  is  on  my  sky,  that  hung 
Unutterably  black !     Yes,  it  is  true 
I  saved  LeVal.     From  Fate's  own  arms  I  snatched 
My  treachery's  sequence,  though  his  meantime  pain 
Is  ever  writ  against  me.     Yet  I  too 


88  THE    MORTAL    GODS 

Knew  misery  that  might  be  mate  of  his. 

And  for  that  other  wrong — here  where  we  stand 

Cha.  My  wrong  to  you !     Nay,  don't  forgive  me  that. 
Leave  me  a  wound  to  keep  me  ever  paying 
The  debt  of  pain  that  solely  eases  guilt. 

Her.  I  had  to  choose, — Oh,  agony  of  choice! — 
Between  your  death  as  certain  as  the  night 
And  your  surrender  to  Megario, 
That  seemed  but  death  postponed,  yet  held  a  hope 
Worth  any  hazard.     That  you  live  is  proof 
My  choice  was  God's.     My  reasonless  despair 
Held  Heaven's  sanity.     Ah,  that  you  live 
Is  substance  of  reward,  joy's  permanent 
Sweet  soil,  but  there's  a  flower  to  spring  from  that, 
A  nodding  ecstasy  that  I  may  pluck 
For  my  own  bosom, — is  there  not? 

Cha.  Don't— don't 

Her.  You  turn  away?     You've  still  a  doubt  of  me? 
Then  modesty  may  save  her  frigid  self. 
I'll  speak  for  love,  the  one  best  thing  this  side 
Of  Heaven.     You've  taken  my  hand,  and  now  my  heart, 
And  all  myself  would  follow  it.     My  heart, 
My  body,  and  my  risen  soul.     Yes,  risen! 
My  past  of  clay  is  quickened  with  a  breath 
That  waits  not  death  to  know  itself  immortal, 
And  this  is  all  my  pride,  that  by  that  breath 
I'm  rich  enough  to  give  myself  to  you. 

[She  waits  for  him  to  speak.     He  makes  no  answer] 
I  am  rejected,  having  but  my  shame 
To  cover  naked  love.     Yet  vanity 
Finds  me  this  scanted  shroud.     Seeing  you  here, 
My  hunger  guessed  at  yours.     I  felt  you  came 
To  seek  me,  else  my  heart,  timid  with  fault, 
Had  kept  its  silence,  though  my  tongue  had  given 
As  now  a  friend's  good  welcome. 


THE    MORTAL    GODS  89 

Cha.  I  have  come, 

But  not  to  you. 

Her.  For  why  then?     I've  an  ear 

Of  caution.     Let  my  veins,  at  too  swift  flood, 
Grow  slow  as  prudence  in  what  work  you  will. 
Now  that  our  aims  are  near  as  once  our  hearts, 
You'll  let  me  help?     I  swear  by  both  our  souls, 
And  yours  the  dearer  one,  that  our  desires 
Are  one  bent  bow,  and  if  our  arrows  speed 
They'll  kiss  at  the  same  mark. 

Cha.  I'm  fathoms  deep, 

But  in  a  sea  as  sweet  as  ever  closed 
O'er  drowned  felicity! 

Her.  Why  are  you  here? 

Cha.  To  keep  an  oath! — that  kept  is  our  division, 
Yet  forfeited  would  so  untreasure  me 
That  being's  god  would  blush  dishallowed  way 
Quite  out  such  husk  of  man! 

Her.  An  oath? 

Cha.  Oh,  first 

In  made  self -curses  I'll  unload  some  part 
Of  this  stuffed  loathing  for  the  wretch  I  am! 

Her.  Nay,  I'll  not  listen. 

Cha.                                   Star  that  was  a  maiden, 
Do  not  believe  I  loved  you  when  my  days 
Ran  tribute  at  your  feet, 

Her.  Say  anything 

But  that.     Those  days  were  mine,  and  true. 

Cha.  False,  false! 

For  love  is  generous  as  the  heart  of  bounty, 
Giving  defect  perfection.     Narrowed  hours, 
Beseamed  and  flawed,  take  from  its  seer-lit  eyes 
The  unstinted,  dear  proportion  secret  yet 
In  Time's  full  dream. 

Her.  'Twas  I  who  failed 


90  THE    MORTAL    GODS 

Cha.  Not  you! 

That  midnight  moment  held  the  dawn  of  this, 
All  this  that  now  you  are,  and  love  had  seen 
The  folded  glory  of  yourself  had  love 
Been  there  to  see.     But  I  cast  dust  upon 
Your  sleeping  wings,  and  did  not  know  your  heart 
Till  wounds  had  laid  it  bare. 

Her.  How  could  you  know 

More  than  its  native  bosom  where  it  dwelt 
Strange  and  unguessed? 

Cha.  If  I  had  loved, 

Such  soul  of  fragrance  had  not  hid  from  me 
This  unbound  blossoming. 

Her.  We  must  forget 

Love's  morning  miracles  forever  missed. 
His  fair,  warm  day  is  left  us, — sunset's  gold, 
And  evening  with  the  stars.     That  is  enough 
For  me  and  you 

Cha.  My  pledge!     I'm  here  to  meet 

Famette! 

Her.  Famette!     I  know  her. 

Cha.  Know  her!     You? 

Her.  And  know  she  loves.     Then  it  is  you  she  waits? 

Cha.  She  saved  my  life.     But  that  unvalued  thing 
Is  debt's  mere  rubble.     'Tis  her  love  makes  up 
The  sum  unpaid  and  out  of  reckoning. 
And  I — how  can  I  tell  you? 

Her.  If  you  loved, 

Look  up.     No  shame  can  be  where  love  has  been. 

Cha.  I've  no  defence, — yet  say  that  you  were  lost 
In  midmost  desert  sands,  and  suddenly 
A  flower  at  your  feet  breathed  of  the  woods 
And  darkling  velvet  shade  where  rest  might  be.  .  .  . 

Her.  But  that's  a  miracle. 


THE    MORTAL    GODS  91 

Cha.  So  was  her  love 

To  me.     Or  say  that  flam  and  falsity 
Ensnarled  your  every  way  till  no  true  thing 
Seemed  left  on  earth,  and  then  in  lifted  flash 
Truth's  priestess  eyes  looked  from  a  human  face 
And  you  were  loved, — what  startled  warmth  would  say 
Your  heart  yet  lived?     Would  you  keep  back  your  life 
In  barren  hug?     Deny  its  sunless  gray 
To  gentle  eyes  that  asked  but  leave  to  lay 
Their  radiance  there? 

Her.  I  understand.     She  gave, 
And  I  demanded.     So  the  gods  decree 
Her  boughs  shall  bloom  and  mine  go  bare. 

Cha.  Oh,  Heaven! 

Her.  You  love  her,  Chartrien? 

Cha.  Silence  be  on  that. 

Her.  I'll  know  it, — hear  you  say  it.     Is  your  heart 
Mine,  or  Famette's? 

Cha.  My  life  is  hers. 

Her.  Your  heart! 

Cha.  Is  yours. 

Her.  Ah !    Then — I  give  you  to  Famette. 

[He  kneels  to  kiss  her  hand.     Hudibrand  appears  in  door 
of  house,  left.     Smiles,  and  crosses  to  them] 

Hud.  Up  to  her  lip,  you  rogue !     A  humble  suitor 
Gets  humble  favors. 

Cha.  [Rising]  You,  my  lord? 

Hud.  Your  hand, 

My  boy. 

Cha.  It  was  my  head  you  wanted,  sir, 
When  last  we  met. 

Hud.  Not  so.     I  meant  to  save  you, 

But  Hernda  spiked  my  train.     To  have  you  die 
Quite  safely  in  a  rumor  was  the  sum 
Of  my  intent  against  you. 


92  THE    MORTAL    GODS 

Cha.  You're  not  well, 

My  lord? 

Hud.  Most  well! 

Her.  He's  lost  some  sleep. 

Hud.  Tut,  tut! 

Cha.  You  stay  full  long  in  Goldusan.     I  thought 
You  nearer  home. 

Hud.  I'm  cruising  in  the  gulf, 

By  th'  morning  papers, — the  reliable  ones. 
The  gutter  rags  have  guessed  me, — but  no  matter. 
I've  seen  the  play  through,  and  I  go  to-morrow. 
Pouf !     It  has  been  a  game ! 

Cha.  You  speak  as  'twere 

At  end. 

Hud.  It  ends  to-day.     [Looks  at  watch] 
'Tis  just  the  hour. 

Now  Vardas  is  proclaimed  the  president 
Of  a  liberated  people. 

Cha.  What  of  that? 

Hud.  He's    bowing    now.     "I    thank    you,    gracious 

friends, 
Most  loyal  citizens " 

Cha.  What's  that  to  do 

With  freedom's  war? 

Hud.  It  merely  ends  it. 

Cha.  What? 

You  think  we  fought  for  that?     A  change  of  caps 
Upon  two  brigands'  heads? 

Hud.  Tut,  you've  won  more. 

You  with  some  justice  warred  on  Cordiaz, 
But  Vardas  is  of  heart  so  liberal 
His  people  shall  be  rich  in  privileges 
As  many  and  as  fair  as  in  Assaria. 
Myself  will  vouch  it. 


THE    MORTAL    GODS  93 

Cha.  I  will  vouch  it  too. 

As  many  pits  fed  with  the  souls  of  men, 
As  many  images  of  God  deformed 
In  lawless  fray  to  hold  the  peaks  of  greed 
And  at  the  top  sit  on  their  goblin  gold 
Content  with  bestial  purr,  who  might  have  touched 
The  heavens  with  song. 

Hud.  Is  that  for  me,  my  boy? 

Cha.  As  many  lives  tramped  out  in  hunger's  scramble, 
As  many  factories  where  driven  wives 
Forget  the  altar  dream  of  babes  and  home. 
As  many  sweating  traps  where  flames  may  feed 
On  flesh  of  maidens,  leaving  still,  charred  bones 
Whose  only  fortune  is  to  ache  no  more. 
As  many  brazen  mills  that  noise  their  thrift 
Above  the  ceaseless  shuttle  of  small  feet, 
While  you,  the  great  arch-master,  think  none  hears 
That  drowned  pattering.     As  many  marts 
Where,  in  law's  shadow,  girl-eyed  slaves  are  sold 
To  blows  and  lust.     As  many  cripples  thrown 
Upon  the  dump-heap  of  a  soulless  Peace, 
Each  season  piled  to  moaning  wreck  more  high 
Than  ever  War  made  in  its  darkest  year. 
As  many  holes  where  life  must  lie  with  death 
For  privilege  of  sleep.     Oh,  I  could  give 
Black  instances  till  yonder  sun  be  set 
Nor  end  your  loathsome  list ! 

Hud.  A  rare,  hot  sermon, 

But  I'm  not  Providence,  that  from  my  hand 
Must  pour  unfailing  bounty. 

Cha.  Humble,  sir? 

I  thought  you  claimed  a  power  that  gave  the  world 
The  shape  you  chose. 

Hud.  But  I  must  use  the  stuff 

I  find  here.     That  I  can't  remake  or  change. 


94  THE    MORTAL    GODS 

So  must  my  world  show  flaws  and  ugly  spots 
Due  to  its  substance,  not  to  my  good  pattern. 

Cha.  That  stuff,  sir,  is  the  same  that  lifted  us 
From  four  feet  up  to  two !     The  elements 
That  played  like  death  upon  it  but  aroused 
Their  conqueror.     In  the  embrace  of  winds 
It  made  us  ships  and  gave  us  wings.     From  dust, 
The  very  dust  that  choked  it,  grew  the  dream 
That  lifts  it  deathless,  an  eternized  God. 
And  surely  as  your  grip  makes  it  a  slave, 
You  teach  it  freedom.     In  your  clutch  'twill  find 
Once  more  the  need  creative,  and  upswell 
With  power  that  shall  leave  you  by  the  way 
As  heaving  seas  leave  straws  upon  the  sand. 
You  shall  be  nothing.     As  a  dream  that  dies 
With  waking — lost  so  utterly 
The  sleeper  knows  not  that  it  was — so  you 
Shall  be  a  vanished  thing  that  man  born  free 
Can  not  reclothe  in  guess! 

Hud.  Peonia's  sun 

Has  touched  your  wits.     You  still  think  of  revolt? 

Cha.  I  think  of  victory. 

Hud.  Your  comedy 

Is  past  its  hour.     Come,  Chartrien,  give  it  up. 
Confess  the  war  is  done. 

Cha.  Bolderez'  guns 

Will  make  confession  of  another  sort. 

Hud.  O,  ho !     I  see  a  light.     You  have  not  heard 
The  morning  news.     Bolderez  has  come  in. 

Cha.  Come  in?     Your  couriers  flatter  you.     He  holds 
The  heights  of  Gila  with  five  thousand  men. 

Hud.  That's  yesterday.     To-day  those  brave  five  thou- 
sand 

Are  soldiers  of  united  Goldusan. 
Bolderez  is  adviser  to  the  State, 


THE    MORTAL    GODS  95 

A  tinker  in  high  place,  who  solders  fast 
The  civic  split — 

Cha.  You  dream !    This  is  not  true ! 

Her.  Yes,  Chartrien,  it  is  true.     We've  lost  Bolderez. 

Cha.  He— has— deserted? 

Hud.  No,  he  proves  him  loyal 

To  me,  his  master. 

Cha.  You? 

Hud.  He  served  me  always. 

You  fool,  this  was  my  revolution. 

Cha.  Yours? 

Hud.  Bolderez  led  my  troops.     It  was  for  me 
You  fed  his  bony  beggars.     Ha!  For  me 
You  stuffed  their  hungry  pockets  with  your  gold ! 
I  loosed  your  fortune  when  I  knew  'twould  save 
My  own  a  gouge.     But  I've  not  dodged  the  score. 
Those  guns  and  horses  for  the  Gazza  scare 
Cost  me  some  paper 

Cha.  You?     My  God!     Your  war? 

Hud.  I  knew  the  storm  would  sweep  out  Cordiaz, 
So  strode  its  back  that  I  might  hold  the  bit 
When  came  my  hour.     My  boy,  you  fought  for  me. 
I  made  you  do  it, — I,  whom  you  have  said 
Shall  be  as  nothing.     Where's  the  mighty  sea 
Shall  toss  me  as  a  straw 

Her.  0,  father,  peace! 

You  see  he  dies ! 

Hud.  Don't  waste  your  tears.     He'll  live. 

I've  made  good  oxen  out  of  wilder  bulls. 

Her.  He  cannot  live!     The  pain  of  it,  the  pain! 
When  aspirations  have  returned  as  wounds, 
Then  even  the  soul  must  die! 

Hud.  They  all  get  up. 

Stout  workers  too, — quiet,  serviceable, 
Pestered  no  more  with  dreams.     Here,  give  him  this. 

[Offers  a  flask] 


96  THE    MORTAL    GODS 

Cha.  [Rousing,  pushing  flask  aside]  Ay,  no  more  dreams. 

[Springs  up]  But  action !     Keep  Bolderez. 
We  have  LeVal,  whose  undiscouraged  heart 
Bears  on  its  tide  the  conquering  desire 
Of  twenty  thousand  men! 

Hud.  Humph!     Where  are  these 

Invisible  veterans? 

Cha.  Some  gather  now 

About  his  banner, — some  wait  in  the  hills 
Till  they  are  sure  it  is  his  voice  that  calls, — 
Some  in  your  favor  wrapped  go  to  and  fro 
In  your  own  camp,  feeding  a  fire  your  gold 
Can  never  light, — some  dream  till  we  have  oped 
Their  prison  doors, — in  every  part  and  corner 
Of  Goldusan,  there's  courage  on  the  leap 
To  reach  his  side. 

Hud.  What  dribble! 

Cha.  Rein  this  storm? 

No  human  hand,  nor  Heaven's  now,  may  leash  it. 
It  is  the  throe  when  travailing  Life  is  shaken 
In  absolute  birth  that  makes  undreamed  news 
Even  in  the  ear  of  God. 

Hud.  Fanatic!    Fool! 

Have  I  not  tried  to  teach  you 

Cha.  Teach  yourself ! 

Hud.  Come,  come! 

Cha.  I  mean  the  words.     The  race  has  learned 

Its  lesson  while  you've  played  with  sand.     At  last 
The  dumb,  trod  way  has  spoken  'neath  man's  feet, 
And  by  that  word  uncovered  he  has  learned 
What  he  shall  not  be, — knows  what  heights  of  sun 
Are  his,  and  seeing  takes  his  road, — no  more 
Battering  in  wild  and  bruised  ignorance 
A  destiny  of  stone.     Ay,  consciousness 
Has  wakened  in  itself  the  unknown  god 
That  gives  the  race  its  eyes.     You,  you  a  king? 


THE    MORTAL    GODS  97 

Who  do  not  know  that  every  man  is  heir 
To  kingship  that  must  leave  such  thrones  as  yours 
Outcoursed  and  little  recked  as  the  strewn  toys 
Of  childhood! 

Hud.  Mud-sill  dynasties.     You  know 
That  I  am  master. 

Cha.  Master?     You  believe 

That  man,  at  top  of  conquest,  who  has  made 
Nature  his  weariless  serf,  and  set  the  yoke 
From  his  own  neck  on  her  divinities, 
Will  seal  to  you — weak,  myriadth  part  of  him— 
Those  wizard  captives  bending  to  the  dream 
Of  his  new  world?     Gird  you  with  fortune  that 
He  wrenched  from  stony  ages? — let  you  gorge 
The  magic  fruit  snatched  by  his  perilled  being 
In  starward  battle  up  the  abysmal  steep? 

Hud.  I  am  a  fact, — not  words. 

Cha.  You  can  believe  it? 

At  last  on  dawn-browed  heights,  with  victor  foot 
On  mysteries  bound  the  genii  of  his  wish, 
He'll  trail  his  hopes  to  kennel?     Let  you  pluck 
His  universe  unflowered,  and  shrink  life 
To  growling  brevity  'tween  lash  and  bone? 
A  slave  to  you  ?     Obstructive  clod, 
Who  could  not  stir  with  one  life-budding  dream 
Though  holy  imagination  tipped  with  fire 
Should  score  her  script  upon  you! 

[A  physical  pain  overcomes  Hudibrand.  Hernda  runs  to 
his  side.  He  regains  composure,  his  manner  forbidding 
solicitude] 

Hud.                                             I  am  patient. 
One  word  of  mine  would  send  you  manacled 
To  prison.     If  you  are  here  to  lay  down  arms 

Cha.  I'm  not. 


98  THE    MORTAL    GODS 

Her.  O,  father !    The  amnesty ! 

Hud.  That  shelter 

Is  not  for  him! 

Cha.  Then  speak  your  word,  and  learn 
You  fight  not  men  but  man.     Wide  as  the  world 
His  spirit  blows  against  you,  and  little  part 
You'll  cage  in  this  one  shackled  body. 

Hud.  One? 

We'll  drag  the  earth,  or  net  the  pack  of  you ! 
LeVal,  marauding  ghost,  we'll  prick  his  blood 
Beneath  his  spectral  mask.     And  that  mad  trull, 
Famette,  your  holy  maid 

Cha.  She's  safe  from  you ! 

God  is  about  her  as  she  walks  among 
Your  hope-lorn  slaves  and  touches  their  dead  hearts 
To  life. 

Hud.  To  folly  they  are  sick  of!     Ah, 
Once  more  I've  news.     Your  swarthy  Joan  has  fled, 
And  all  her  magic  warriors  of  a  day 
Again  are  beggars. 

Cha.  Fled? 

Hud.  To  her  cactus  lair. 

But  she'll  trapse  back  between  two  bayonets, 
Stripped  of  her  phantom  wings. 

Cha.  She  is  not  gone. 

That  heart  of  truth!     When  she  deserts  LeVal 
There'll  be  a  breach  in  Heaven,  and  fiends  may  claim 
The  day  for  hell  and  you. 

Hud.                                 'Tis  mine  without 
Such  warm  avouch.     Your  chaparral  cock  and  hen 
Have  parted  company.     Her  followers  now, 
Cursing  and  naked,  straggle  to  our  camps 

Her.  Your  pardon,  sir!     You  are  deceived. 

Hud.  Ho,  ho! 


THE    MORTAL    GODS  99 

Her.  They're  with  LeVal.     Not  one  stout  heart  is  lost. 
Famette  but  lends  her  captaincy  to  his 
In  needful  absence 

Hud.  You  are  much  too  wise. 

Her.  I  know  Famette. 

Hud.  You — what?     Know  her? 

Her.  I  do. 

Hud.  This  is  the  fruit  of  that  mad  jaunt, 
Through  Goldusan!     Where  have  you  seen  her? 

Her.  Here. 

Hud.  Not  here?    That  woman?     Are  you   mad,  my 
girl? 

Her.  I  love  Famette.     If  we  were  one,  I'd  be 
But  cinders  in  her  saintly  fire. 

Hud.  Here,  miss? 

You've  had  her  with  you?     Sniffed  and  cheeped  together, 
And  drowned  my  kingdom  in  a  gossip  cup? 

Her.  If  men,  the  bravest,  are  but  flies  upon 
Your  monarch  ermine,  that  with  careless  shake 
You  scatter,  can  you  fear  a  woman? 

Hud.  What? 

Mocked  by  a  chit?     I  fear?     You  mannerless  filly, 
I've  let  you  plunge  and  ramp  o'er  all  my  fields, 
But  I'll  not  have  you  whinnying  at  the  fence 
Till  roadside  jades  break  through!     She  has  been  here? 

Her.  She  has.     Dined  at  my  board,  slept  in  my  bed, 
And  so  shall  do  again. 

Hud.  I'll  welcome  her! 

And  send  you  trucking  home!     You  shall  not  wait 
For  any  whimsy  this  or  tha.t! 

Her.  But,  sir,— 

Hud.  No  trumpery  packing, — no  unready  whine! 
This  hour!     That  you  should  moil  your  royalty 
Touching  such  scum ! 


100  THE    MORTAL    GODS 

Her.  Nay,  I  was  scum  until  she  gave  me  substance. 
I  had  no  soul  until  she  made  hers  mine, 
No  cleanliness  of  heart  till  I  knew  hers, 
No  knowledge  till  I  looked  through  her  clear  eyes, 
No  riches  till  I  wrapped  me  in  her  rags 

Hud.  You're  raving! 

Her.  No.     Ah,  father,  father,  I'm 

Famette, — your  daughter!     I've  not  been  in  Cana, 
But  in  the  pits  your  greed  has  dug, — down,  down 
Where  misery  is  so  vile  its  own  abyss 
Shudders  to  hold  it.     Chartrien,  now  you  know 
My  tale  untold.     I  see  your  mind  runs  back 
To  light  a  way  it  travelled  in  the  dark. 
O,  you  were  blind !     I'd  know  you  near  though  masked 
In  utter  change. 

Cha.  I'm  folded  now  in  sun 
That  makes  me  blind  again.     Are  you  Famette? 

Her.  [Showing  her  bared  arm]     See  this  brown  circlet 
left  that  you  might  find 

A  trace  of  her?     I've  crossed  the  universe 

Through  hell — and  reached  you,  have  I  not? 

Cha.  [Embracing  her]  All  sweet 

Forfending  stars  now  heap  their  fortunes  one 
And  drop  it  on  my  heart  that  borrows  heaven 
To  hold  the  imponderable  gift! 

Her.  Ah,  poor  Famette! 

Cha.  'Twas  you — in  that  foul  hacienda  pen? 
And  would  not  speak? 

Her.  I  meant  to  save  you,  sir. 

And  had  I  told  you  then,  would  you  have  set 
So  blithely  off  to  Quito? 

Cha.  And  left  you  there! 

How  can  you  think  it? 

Her.  Do  I,  sir?     Nay,  love, 

Nor  ever  did.     I  knew  you'd  ruin  all 
With  your  big  "won'ts"  and  "don'ts/' 


THE    MORTAL    GOxa,   ;       ;;-MH 

Cha.  O,  sagest  heart! 

But  here  you  kept  my  joy-gates  shut  so  long. 
Why  such  slow  mercy,  golden  one? 

Her.  You'll  hear  it? 

There  is  a  teasing  devil  in  me,  Chartrien, 
That  must  have  play. 

Cha.  Ah,  no! 

Her.  Ay,  and  an  ounce 

Or  so  of  cruelty,  that  would  not  let 
Your  frailty  go  unpinched. 

Cha.  Nay,  'tis  not  so! 

Her.  You'd  rather  think  I  put  to  royal  test 
Your  godship?     Wooed  with  lips  so  near  your  own, 
And  found  you  stanch  to  honor?     That  may  be, 
But  I've  a  shameless  reason  dearer  still. 
I  wanted  all  your  love  for  Hernda, — all. 
And  had  I  said  too  soon  that  we  were  one, 
Then  on  your  breast  my  heart  had  never  known 
Which  maid  you  clasped. 

Cha.  You  ever,  sweet! 

Her.  Yet  she 

Is  dear.     My  joy  could  never  be  content 
Within  your  heart  beside  unfaith  to  her. 
She  must  have  room  there,  not  in  name  of  love, 
But  truth.     So  you  shall  hold  us  both. 

Cha.  Like  this! 

Grow  to  my  heart,  O  garland  of  myself! 
Be  breath  of  me,  till,  like  a  double  tree, 
Root,  sap,  and  bloom  are  one, 
And  in  our  noble  fruiting  Time  forgets 
To  mourn  Hesperides ! 

Her.  Heaven  hold  thy  wish 

The  prayer  thou  meanest  it! 

Cha.  One  bliss  is  man's 

The  perfect  angels  know  not.     In  the  arms, 


THE    MORTAL    GODS 

Warm,  rhythmic,  round  his  battling  soul,  to  feel 
Spur  of  his  noblest  blood,  and  know  his  dreams 
Are  mated, — find  in  lightest  winds  that  stir 
Love's  tremulous  hair,  the  brave  wing  of  his  hope 
That  needs  go  farthest, — and  when  seasons  fail, 
And  weary  spirit  turns  from  waste  to  waste, 
Know  lips  that  he  may  touch  and  touching  kiss 
The  fallow  world  to  harvest.     Thus,  and  thus ! 

[Hudibrand,  forgotten  by  the  lovers,  has  fought  through 
another  moment  of  agony,  and  advances,  taking  hold 
of  Hernda] 

Hud.  Are  you  my  daughter? 

Her.  I  am,  but  I've  known  hours 

When  shame,  a  cleansing  fire,  searched  through  my  blood 
For  any  drop  that  owned  you  father. 

Hud.  In! 

Go  in!  [To  Chartrien]  And  you — I'll  rid  the  earth  of  you, 
And  take  its  thanks !  [Staggers  with  a  return  of  pain] 

Her.  [Her  arms  about  him]  O,  father,  let  us  help ! 
What  is  it,  father? 

Hud.  Nothing.     Keep  away! 
Away! 

[Throws  her  off.     Enter,  lower  right,  an  officer  attended\ 

Off.  Your  majesty,  there's  sure  report 
LeVal  makes  ready  to  oppose  his  guns 
To  our  weak  garrison. 

Hud.  [Ironic]  The  spectre's  near? 

Off.  Across  the  stream, — the  east  and  wooded  bank. 
A  hundred  times  our  force  could  not  dislodge 
His  guns  from  such  a  vantage. 

Hud.  Guns?    LeVal? 

He  has  no  guns! 

Off.  You'll  hear  them  soon.     I  beg 

Your  highness*  pardon,  but  your  dignity 
Would  not  be  touched  if  you  should  hasten  out. 
[Enter,  lower  left,  Golifet,  Diraz,  Mazaran] 


THE    MORTAL    GODS  103 

Gol.  My  lord! 

Hud.  What  is  this  tale?     You,  Golifet? 
You  are  in  charge! 

Gol.  'Tis  treachery,  sir!     I  warned 

Your  majesty 

Hud.  Come,  what's  the  story? 

Gol.  This. 

Bolderez'  officers  whom  we  gave  leave 
To  station  near  us,  thus  to  put  more  guard 
Between  the  town  and  rebels  that  might  creep 
Down  from  the  hostile  hills 

Hud.  This  egg's  all  shell. 

Come,  sir,  the  meat! 

Gol.                          They  were  in  secret  yoked 
Most  traitorously  with  LeVal,  and  all  their  men 
Were  coupled  to  his  cause.     They  gave  him  cover 
To  lead  his  army  up 

Hud.  His  army,  sir? 

Gol.  His  followers 

Hud.  There  may  be  treachery 

Uncapped  among  us. 

Gol.                          'Twas  by  your  advice 
We  gave  them  leave  to  camp 

Hud.  I  trusted  fools! 

Or  traitors!     You've  a  choice  of  names. 

Of.  I  beg 

Your  majesty  to  come  with  us.     They'll  fire 
At  any  moment. 

Hud.  Fire?    Then  we  shall  know 

At  last  where  we  may  find  LeVal.     You've  wired 
To  Vardas,  Golifet?     He  must  despatch 
The  Federal  Guards- 
Go/.  It  is  too  late. 

Hud.  Too  late? 

M az.  We  can  not  save  the  town. 


104  THE    MORTAL    GODS 

Off.  The  citizens 

Are  fleeing.     Do  not  delay,  your  majesty ! 
[Fire  of  guns  is  heard] 

Hud.  Cowards !     Before  you  fly,  arrest  that  man. 
Look  to  it,  Golifet.     You'll  answer  for  him. 
Let  him  be  trebly  guarded. 

Gol.  Is  not  this 

The  missing  lord,  Prince  Chartrien? 

Hud.  Ay,  that  traitor! 

Gol.  At  this  hot  juncture,  prudence  must  forbid 
A  needless  insult  to  the  enemy 
That  may  too  soon  be  master. 

Hud.  Insult! 

Gol.  Come, 

My  lord. 

Hud.  By  every  god  that  was  or  is 

[Guns  again  heard] 

Gol.  Please  you,  retire,  your  majesty ! 

[Men  gather  excitedly  from  different  parts  of  the  grove. 
Guests  and  servants  desert  the  house] 

Maz.  Come,  come! 

[A  shell  breaches  the  wall,  rear.     Stones  fly  among  the 
trees.     The  house  is  battered  and  portico  torn  away] 

Hud.  Grant  me  this  favor.     Let  me  be  the  last 
To  leave  the  Grove  of  Peace.     Ha,  ha!     The  last! 

Her.  Come,  father! 

Hud.  Go!     I've  asked  a  favor,  friends. 

[They  turn  from  him  and  pass  slowly  out.     Hernda  and 
Chartrien  remain] 

Her.  Now  you  will  come? 

Hud.  When  you  have  gone !     Go,  go ! 

[More  shells.     Chartrien  carries  Hernda  away,  lower  left] 

Hud.  [Alone,  racked  with  pain]  My  foe  is  nearer  than 

those  feeble  guns. 
Bah!     I  could  crush  them!     Here  I  am  fordone. 


THE    MORTAL    GODS  105 

No,  no!     I'll  not  surrender.     I  will  live! 
I'll  keep  my  world.     I  fought  for  it,  and  won. 
'Tis  mine !     I  will  not  leave  it  to  these  mice 
To  scramble  over.     [The  agony  seizes  him] 
A  coward  foe,  that  gives 

No  even  chance.     Strikes  from  the  dark,  with  blade 
Tempered  secure  in  undiscovered  fire. 

Shall  then  the  world  go  on  and  I  not  here? 

I  shall  be  here, — a  pile  of  dust,  no  more, 

That  is  the  hell  of  hells, — while  other  dead, 
Who  made  them  souls  here  out  of  faith  and  clay, 
Race  on  unflagging, — on  and  leave  me  still, — 

The    everlasting    mute! Souls?     That's 

a  lie. 

A  ranting,  tom-tom  lie,  to  ease  us  on 
The  wheel.     I'll  none  of  that.     The  sick  mind's  pap! 
Imagination's  vent,  lest  misery 
O'er-rack  the  world !     Protective  fume 
Enclouding  man's  last  grapple  till  none  see 
If  he  or  Death  be  victor,  and  on  the  doubt 
He  rides  to  Heaven !  .  .  . 
.  .  .  Was  't  truth  that  Chartrien  spoke? 
The  race  has  found  its  eyes?     Man  is  no  more 
A  blind  and  hopeless  struggler  cornered  fast 
By  ills  unconquerable? — his  lusting  wars, 
Diseases,  hungers,  Hudibrands?     Then  what 
A  chance  was  there,  my  heart?     If  I  had  fought 
Upon  his  side !  .  .  .  That  battle  would  have  made 
Red  Fate  throw  down  her  bludgeon, — won  us  place 

To  vanward  of  the  gods ! If  I  had  fought 

With  him Obstructive 

clod! My  God!    My  God? 

[He  dies.  Sunset  has  passed,  and  the  darkness  grows  rap- 
idly until  nothing  is  seen  but  the  gleam  of  a  fallen  crown. 
Curtain] 


A  SON   OF  HERMES 

A    COMEDY    IN    FIVE    ACTS 


CHARACTERS 

BIADES,  a  young  Athenian 
PELAGON,  his  uncle 
SACHINESSA,  wife  of  Pelagon 
PHANIA,  their  daughter 
SYBARIS,  a  neighbor's  daughter 
CREON,  jHercd  of  Blades 
AMENTOR,  a  senator 
MENAS,  friend  of  Pelagon 

CLEARCHUS,  an  Athenian  youth  disguised  as  a  dancer 
PHILON,  a  priest 
STESILAUS,  a  lord  of  Sparta 
PYRRHA,  his  daughter 
ARCHIPPE,  his  wife 
ALCANOR,  his  son 
LYSANDER,  friend  of  Stesilaus 
HIERON,  a  young  Spartan 
AGIS,  LENON,  GIRARDAS,  his  friends 
DIANESSA,  MYRTA,  THEONIS,  NACIA,  ARTANTE,  Spar- 
tan maidens 
THE  EPHORS 

Senators,  citizens,  soldiers,  dancers,  etc. 


ACT    I 

SCENE:  Pelagon's  garden,  Athens.  Wall,  rear,  shutting  off 
street.  Upper  right,  path  to  street  gate.  Upper  and 
middle  left,  entrances  to  Pelagon's  house.  Lower  left, 
path  to  a  neighbor's  dwelling.  Lower  right,  path  lead- 
ing deeper  into  garden. 

[Enter,  upper  left,  Pelagon,  Stesilaus  and  Lysander] 

Lys.  A  gracious  senate!     If  such  welcome  keys 
The  tune  to  come,  then  our  ambassadry 
Is  concord's  instrument,  and  we  may  bear 
Fair  music  back  to  Sparta. 

Ste.  Tut,  the  smiles 

Of  Athens  are  as  flying  leaves,  divorced 
From  the  tree's  heart,  as  apt  to  light 
On  vagrancy  as  merit. 

Pel.  Stesilaus 

Bears  hard  as  truth.     Yet  I  was  warmed  to  note 
The  council's  greeting. 

Ste.  Ever  Sparta's  friend! 

Pel.  And  friend  of  peace.     The  age  no  more  can  bear 
The  locked  alarum  of  our  rivalling  States. 
We  must  the  groaning  tussle  bring  to  end, 
Or  ends  the  world. 

Lys.  'Twas  wisdom's  cue  you  gave  us, — 

To  say  we  had  our  Sparta's  sovereign  word 
For  Athens'  terms. 

Pel.  Ay,  hold  your  embassage 

Unstrictured,  friends.     In  that  lies  flattery 
Each  lord  will  take  to  himself  and  thereon  feed 

109 


110  ASONOFHERMES 

A  grace  which  will,  in  sort,  come  back  to  you. 
What  hour  was  fixed  for  answer?     I  lost  that. 

Lys.  The  last  hour  of  the  sun. 

Pel.  The  crier  stood 

Wrong  side  of  my  good  ear,  and  I'll  not  twist 
To  set  the  gossips  nudging  me  to  th'  grave, 
Robbed  in  a  shrug  of  twenty  grizzled  years. 

[Looks  about  the  garden] 
Where's  Biades?    He's  always  trailing  here, 
Save  in  the  tick  of  need.     I'd  have  him  bid 
The  ambassadors  lie  at  my  house.     Lysander, 
You'll  be  my  suitor  to  your  comrades?     Say 
We've  heart  and  room  for  all. 

Lys.  For  all,  my  lord? 

Pel.  And  more! 

[Exit  Lysander] 

Ste.  My  Sparta  thanks  you,  Pelagon. 

Pel.  Nay,  such  an  honor  shall  not  pass  me,  sir. 
Now  where  is  Biades? 

Ste.  Your  nephew,  friend? 

Pel.  Ay,  Stesilaus.     Bar  my  blood  in  him, 
He'll  fasten  on  your  heart. 

Ste.  Report  has  been 

Too  dear  his  friend.     What  buzz  about  a  youth 
Of  twenty-five!     Sir,  Attica  is  mad 
To  give  him  captainship.     In  Sparta  now, 
The  spurring  callant  would  be  kept  in  ranks, 
And  yoked  with  Prudence  till  he  learned  her  jog. 

Pel.  In  ranks !     I  see  him !     Well,  just  in  your  ear, 
He  sweeps  a  pretty  curvet.     With  my  wife 
His  slave,  and  Phania  neck-deep  in  love, 
He  rides  the  very  comb  of  my  poor  house. 
If  you  would  say  to  him,  hold  here  or  there, 
I'd  take  it  not  amiss.     But  I  do  love  him. 
And  now  a  bout  with  th'  cook.     The  pest  sends  word 


ASONOFHERMES  111 

A  double  score  of  sudden  guests  are  all 
He'll  have  at  table.     Mine  own  table,  sir! 
Ha,  there  is  Biades !     He'll  wait  upon  you. 
Pray  touch  him  as  I've  hinted.     But  no  word 
About  our  daughters,  friend.     We'll  let  that  lie. 
[Exit  upper  left.     Enter  Biades  upper  right] 

Bia.  Most  noble  Stesilaus,  my  heart  greets  you! 

Ste.  Greeting  to  Biades,  whom  Athens  makes 
Her  general! 

Bia.  Would,  my  lord,  this  dignity 
Were  laid  on  senior  years.     Your  Sparta's  way 
Is  best, — to  keep  the  cool,  meridian  bays 
From  youth-flushed  brows.     My  moist  and  charmed  eyes 
Spoke  inward  to  my  soul  when  they  beheld 
The  ambassadors  before  the  council,  each 
With  staff  unneeded,  and  gray  locks  that  seemed 
As  wisdom's  holy  place. 

Ste.  You  sat  with  us? 

I  did  not  mark  you  there. 

Bia.  I  kept  in  modest  shadow, 

Which  is  youth's  fairest  mantle, — though  my  rank 
Moves  back  for  none.     But,  sir,  the  Spartan  elders! 
Ah,  might  I  see  more  men  in  Athens  who 
Thus  honor  age,  and  age  that  honors  men! 

Ste.  Breathe  that  into  your  shrines. 

Bia.  The  gods  who  smile 

On  folly  young,  must  weep  when  reverend  years 
And  wisdom  part.     Mayhap  you've  noticed,  sir, 
In  my  good  uncle  here  ....  a  falling  off. 
I  would  not  speak  but  that  I  know  your  eyes 
Can  not  keep  curtain  when  the  blabbing  sun 
Makes  it  no  secret. 

Ste.  Somewhat  I  have  seen. 

Bia.  Somewhat  will  grow  to  much  ere  you  take  leave. 

Ste.  I  fear  it,  Biades. 


112  ASONOFHERMES 

Bia.  And  yet,  my  lord, 

Time  has  not  carried  him  ahead  of  you 
More  years  than  half  a  score. 

Ste.  ,  Tis  t'other  way. 

I'm  elder  by  that  much. 

Bia.  Not  you,  my  lord? 

[ Muses  flatteringly] 

The  Spartan  way  is  best.  Was  't  Pelagon 
Led  you  to  say  you  had  full  power  to  treat 
With  Athens? 

Ste.  It  was  he. 

Bia.  I  thought  it.     [Sighs]  Sir, 

In  the  Athenian  mind  there  dwells  a  child 
No  length  of  days  can  age.     We  do  not  grow 
As  Spartans.     But  our  vanity's  no  dwarf. 
Tops  with  the  highest,  you've  some  cause  to  know. 

Ste.  What  of  't?     Unlatch!  unlatch! 

Bia.  The  people,  sir, 

Always  our  rearward  urge,  knowing  you've  power 
To  assent  to  all  they  ask,  will  ask  for  more 
Than  all. 

Ste.  Think'st  that? 

Bia.  In  your  brave  time  you've  met 

Athenians  of  the  best.     Didst  ever  know 
One  modest? — slow  to  ask  for  what  he  thought 
His  own? — or  what  he  might  by  mere  demand 
Make  his? 

Ste.  They  are  well  stomached, — true.     No  doubt 
They'll  press  us  far. 

Bia.  They  will.     And  if  refused, — 

Well,  they  are  children, — and  must  bite  and  scratch. 
With  strutting  rage,  may  pelt  you  out  of  Athens. 
But  why  not  say  you  are  in  part  empowered, 
And  must  return  to  Sparta  with  the  terms 
Before  a  vowed  conclusion? 


ASONOFHERMES  113 

Ste.  Late  for  that, 

Young  sir.     The  tongue  we  used  to  the  Council 
Must  serve  in  the  Assembly.     We  have  said 
We  have  full  power. 

Bia.  To  treat,  not  to  assent. 

That  was  your  word. 

Ste.  Hmm!     Now  the  cloud  is  off 

The  dunce's  script,  and  I  read  clear  why  you 
At  twenty-five  have  Athens'  voice  to  sail 
'Gainst  Syracuse. 

[Re-enter  Pelagon] 

Bia.  No  word  unto  my  uncle! 

Ste.  My  brain  will  serve. 

Pel.  They've  come, — your  comrades, — all ! 

If  honor  now  were  substance,  my  poor  walls 
Would  groaningly  unroof  and  beg  the  sky 
For  room  to  embrace  it!     Go  you,  Biades. 
Repeat  my  welcome,  with  increase  of  grace 
Your  tongue  is  rich  in. 

[Exit  Biades,  upper  left] 

Now  the  full  time  comes. 

We'll  speak  of  that  that's  centre  of  our  hearts, — 
Our  daughters,  friend.     This  is  the  hour  that  ends 
A  watch  of  twenty  years. 

Ste.  A  patient  score. 

So  long  your  daughter  has  been  mine,  so  long 
Has  mine  been  yours. 

Pel.  Like  flower  upon  a  stalk 

Long  nursed  and  tended,  comes  the  end  upon 
This  day  of  budding  peace.     You've  had  no  whiff, 
No  hint  untoward,  that  what  we  did  had  best 
Been  left  undone? 

Ste.  Sir,  what  I  do,  I  do! 

When  we  changed  babes  not  past  their  cradle  sleep, 
My  mind  then  glossed  the  act  with  comment  fair 


114  ASONOFHERMES 

As  our  unfructured  hope.     So  does  it  still. 
By  Nestor,  though  I'm  thitherward  of  prime, 
There's  none  will  say  that  with  accreted  years 
I  moult  sagacity! 

Pel.  Eh,  so!     'Twaswell. 

I've  never  doubted  it.     Here  have  I  reared 
Your  Phania,  Spartan-thewed,  who  now  shall  home 
With  Athens'  gentle  nurture  in  her  veins 
To  hither  yearn  in  blood  of  every  son 
She  bears  to  Sparta.     And  you  my  Pyrrha  bring 
Back  to  her  land  to  live  a  Spartan  dame 
Among  Athenian  mothers.     So  we  feed 
The  unity  we  dream  on, — quicken  time, 
Foresued,  to  give  our  tousing,  touchy  States 
One  civic  heart. 

Ste.  Has  Sachinessa  kept 

A  secret  tongue? 

Pel.  A  nut  not  closer  sits 

About  its  kernel.     And  your  wife,  my  friend? 
What  of  Archippe?     Did  she  hold  for  long 
Against  the  exchange? 

Ste.  She  did.     Nor  ever  learned 

To  love  your  Pyrrha.     For  that  cause, — and  that 
Our  even  trust  might  move  with  even  faith, 
Nor  odds  of  grace  to  you, — I've  stood  her  guard, 
And  made  her  comrade  where  a  son  might  claim 
The  dearest  post. 

Pel.  Good  thanks,  my  Stesilaus. 

From  your  wife's  audit  I'd  not  brush  a  doit, 
But  to  the  credit  of  my  dame  can  set 
A  fairer  sum.     ^Eneas'  curled  lad 
Lay  not  more  dearly  in  his  Dido's  lap 
Than  your  sweet  Phania  in  the  swaddling  love 
Of  Sachinessa.     Ay,  she'll  swear  me  now 
That  not  to  gain  her  own  will  she  give  up 
Her  foster  darling. 


ASONOFHERMES  115 

Ste.  Humph! 

Pel.  The  little  duck! 

She  has  so  chucked  herself  into  my  heart 
'Twill  put  me  sad  about  to  oust  her. 

Ste.  Duck! 

When  I  lose  Pyrrha,  sir,  that  hour  I  lose 
This  good  right  arm! 

Pel.  [Meditative]  Hmm!     So!  ....  Come,  my  friend. 
The  dinner's  toward,  and  the  host  astray. 
The  love's  deep-vouched  that  puts  such  duty  off 
For  one  more  word.     [Pauses  as  they  move  left] 

We'll  give  no  open  voice 
To  our  most  dear  concern  till  we  have  met 
Our  daughters. 

Ste.  [Gloomy]  Met  our  daughters !    Have  it  so. 

[Exeunt  upper  left.   Enter,  middle  left,  Phania  and  Biades] 

Bia.  Come,  Phania!     The  old  cocks  are  off. 

Pha.  They're  gone? 

Bia.  Good  flitting  too !     I  feared  they'd  perch  till  night, 
Crowing  the  deeds  of  Stesilaus  the  Great 
And  Pelagon  the  Wise. 

Pha.  These  Spartans!     If 

They'd  rest  their  clubs  without  the  door,  our  shins 
Would  give  them  thanks.     Why  are  we  so  besieged? 

Bia.  Why,  Phania,  why?     Because  your  father  dotes 
On  dull  and  sodden  peace  that  never  was 
Save  in  an  old  man's  dream.     We  dine  our  foes! 
The  city  must  throw  ope  her  gates,  forsooth, 
Lest  the  dear  enemy  should  take  some  hurt 
Scaling  the  walls !    They'd  bleed  us  as  we  sleep, 
And  Pelagon  would  vow  the  sword  at  's  throat 
Were  Sachinessa's  dozing  kiss. 

Pha.  Ho,  hear 

The  captain  speak!     You  go  to  Syracuse, 
And  not  content?     'Tis  well  there's  one  cries  peace. 


116  ASONOFHERMES 

Bia.  What's  Syracuse?     To  conquer  Sparta, — that 
Were  warrior's  work !     Your  father  robs  me  of  it, 
Bringing  the  water  where  I  set  my  fires. 
But  come!     I've  not  made  love  to  a  soul  to-day 
Save  ancient  Sparta.     Ha!  it  is  an  art 
That  should  be  spared  such  sweat.     The  Heavens  mean 
That  I  shall  pull  to  yoke  these  two  days  left, 
And  love  take  beggar's  chance. 

Pha.  Ah,  but  two  days! 

Bia.  Come  to  our  myrtle  nook 

Pha.  Nay,  Sybaris 

Might  turn  me  out.     That  is  her  royal  seat 
When  you'll  play  consort. 

Bia.  What,  my  Phania?     Dour? 

Does  Creon  keep  away? 

Pha.  I'm  not  for  him. 

You  know  it,  Biades. 

Bia.  But  he  does  not. 

Too  oft  I  find  him  here. 

Pha.  And  Sybaris 

Comes  out  of  count,  knowing  you  like  this  spot. 
Yon  path  is  worn  of  every  blade. 

Bia.  Her  feet 

Can  be  so  cruel? 

Pha.  You  love  her  still ! 

Bia.  Nay,  sweet. 

Not  for  three  days.     Believe  me,  cousin! 

Pha.  Cousin! 

Athene  save  us !     See  her  now, — the  plague ! 

Bia.  By  gentle  Eros,  Phania,  we'll  be  kind. 
I  loved  her  once. 

Pha.  How  tall  she  is! 

Bia.  Ay,  moves 

A  very  sylph! 

[Sybaris  comes  on,  lower  right] 


ASONOFHERMES  117 

Syb.  A  fair  day's  greeting,  friends! 

Bia.  We  double  it  for  thee. 

Pha.  My  dearest  Syb ! 

Do  you  turn  snail,  you  keep  your  house  so  long? 
Why,  hours,  I  think! 

Syb.  Indeed! 

Bia.  Where  lovers  watch 

The  dial,  that's  an  age. 

Pha.  Oh,  so! 

Bia.  [To  Phania]  Do  I 

Not  know? 

Syb.  An  age?     Ay,  love  grows  old  and  fades  in  't. 

Bia.  A  thousand  moons  in  journey  o'er  my  love 
Would  leave  't  no  withered  hour!     By  the  fair  soul 
Of  one  who  knows  me  true ! 

Syb.  That  is  no  woman. 

Pha.  A  pretty  oath! 

Syb.  But  not  a  new  one,  dear. 

Bia.  Plead,  Phania,  dove !     Let  her  not  chide 
Poor  penitence  on  knee.     In  two  days'  time 
I  sail  to  war,  yet  stony  Sybaris 

Would  break  love's  wings  with  doubt — put  me  aboard 
With  sighs  to  sink  my  ship 

Pha.  Nay,  Sybaris! 

I'll  vow  him  constant  now. 

Syb.  Inconstancy 

Once  stopped  for  breath,  and  fools  came  with  a  chair. 

Bia.  No  thaw  in  thee?     Plead,  Phania,  sweet!     Your 

lips 

Are  unimpeached  where  mine  too  oft  have  worn 
Conviction's  droop. 

Pha.  Forgive,  dear  Sybaris! 

Bia.  Ay,  be  my  tongue!    Tell  her  that  as  the  bee 
Betrays  the  honey-buds  yet  hiveward  flies, 
I've  left  all  by-roads  for  the  true  home-path^ 


118  A    SON    OF    HERMES 

Syb.  Then  you  have  trailed  all  others  stale.  There's  none 
Left  new  but  that. 

Bia.                     Tell  her  when  I  have  sailed 
From  Athens'  eyes  into  the  sun  that  eve 
May  skirt  with  blood 

Pha.  No,  no! 

Bia.  — to  walk  with  you 

The  haven's  brim,  watching  the  waves  that  throw 
The  sea-heart  there,  and  know  that  from  my  ship 
Pulses  a  heart  to  love's  dream-sandalled  feet 
As  constant  as  the  sea  to  Athens'  shore. 

[Sybaris  moves  relentingly  nearer.     Blades  behind  Phania, 
who  sits  on  bench,  leans  to  talk  into  her  ear,  but  keeps 
his  eyes  tenderly  on  Sybaris] 
Ah,  tell  her,  Phania,  sleep  is  slow  to  come 
Where  warriors  bed,  and  unforgiven  hours 
Are  thorny  comrades  for  an  age-long  night. 

Syb.  Then  here's  my  hand.     Pray  Pallas  'tis  no  fool's ! 

Bia.  Yours  too,  my  Phania!     In  one  breath  I  seal 
Judge  and  defender  mine!     [Kissing  their  hands] 

Now  with  my  ship 

Will  prayers  go  tendant,  mending  every  sail 
That  storm  may  batter.     Typhon,  whirl  the  sea 
To  insurrection, — send  her  meekest  wave 
To  crinkle  round  the  sun,  and  hiss  from  Heaven 
The  mariner's  port-star, — I  shall  be  safe 
While  I  have  implorators  fair  as  ye 
To  melt  the  gods! 

Syb.  Ah,  Biades,  thou  must 

Be  loved  or  die.     Is  't  heart  or  vanity, 
That's  so  insatiate? 

Pha.  Nay,  you  have  forgiven ! 

Syb.  But  will  not  coo  yet.     Is  that  Creon  comes? 

[Looking  to  upper  right] 
You'll  meet  him,  Phania? 


A    SON    OF    HERMES  119 

Pha.  He  knows  his  way. 

Bia.  Has  news! 

I'll  pick  the  pigeon.     [Goes  up  right] 

Pha.  O,  my  Sybaris, 

Thanks  for  this  generous  peace!     But  who  could  long 
Be  harsh  to  Biades? 

Syb.  Such  steel  's  not  in  me. 

I  but  stood  off,  a  shadow  of  resolve, 
To  hear  him  woo  me  back.     His  coldest  words 
Are  ta'en  from  music,  but  when  warm  in  suit, 
Then  music  sues  to  him. 

Pha.  Woo  you?      Didst  say 

Woo  you?     Couldst  think — couldst  dream — couldst  let 

blind  sense 
So  flatter? 

Syb.  Blind?     Well,  you've  no  eye  to  lend. 

Pha.  His  words  were  all  for  me,  and  through  my  heart 
Were  sifted  to  your  ears. 

Syb.  For  you,  my  dear? 

Now  what  a  gosling  'tis ! 

Pha.  Oh!    Ask  him  then! 

Syb.  You'll  beat  that  bush.     I  have  no  doubt  in  cover. 
[Biades  returns  with  Creon] 

Cre.  You'll  not  go  out? 

Bia.  No,  friend. 

Cre.  I  warn  you,  sir! 

It  is  your  reputation  left  i'  the  street 
That  knocks  for  you. 

Bia.  'Twill  care  for  itself. 

Cre.  Nay,  come! 

Soon  every  ear  in  Athens  will  be  crammed 
Wi'  the  tale. 

Syb.  What  tale? 

Cre.  'Tis  said  that  Biades 

Was  cap  and  spur  to  riot  that  defaced 
The  Hernia;  yesternight. 


120  ASONOFHERMES 

Bia.  Denosed,  you  mean. 

Pha.  O,  do  not  jest !     I  tremble,  Blades ! 

Cre.  You  must  o'ertake  the  lie,  my  lord,  ere  winds 
Be  up  with  't. 

Bia.  Let  it  fly,  my  Creon.     When 
Its  wings  are  worn  'twill  down  for  any  heel 
To  trample. 

Cre.  Not  this  feather.     It  broods  on  the  air, 
And  its  dark  issue  makes  eclipse  your  sun 
Can  push  no  beam  through. 

Bia.  Sinon's  pate  has  hatched 

The  ebon  chick. 

Cre.  You're  not  far  out.     He  wants 

The  generalship. 

[Enter  Hippargus,  upper  right] 

Bia.  Here  comes  a  tongue  to  market. 

Most  purchasable,  tho'  neither  cut  nor  dried. 

Cre.  The  senate's  messenger! 

Bia.  Greeting,  Hippargus. 

Hip.  Greeting,  my  lord, — and  I  must  lay  command 
On  that,  for  you  are  charged  on  the  instant  to  appear 
Before  the  Council. 

Bia.  The  instant?     Cramped  to  that? 

And  what  to  do  there,  sir? 

Hip.  Give  proof  you  touched 

With  no  profaning  and  injurious  hand 
Our  threshold  gods. 

Bia.  Go  gently  back,  Hippargus, 

And  tell  the  senators  I  pardon  them, 
Knowing  they  do  mistake.     They  would  not  lay 
So  dull  an  antic  on  me,  and  this  charge 
Is  meant  for  Bico,  my  fat  monkey  here, 
Whom  they  may  have  for  trial. 

Hip.  Spare  such  jest, 

My  worthy  lord.     A  hundred  tongues  have  sworn     .  . 
You  said  in  open  street,  nor  cared..wh.Q  heard*  .„.  . .-. 


ASONOFHERMES  121 

The  guardian  Hermse  might  be  nipped  of  ears, 
And  noses  too,  yet  serve  our  pious  turn, 
Since  they  smell  out  no  faults  and  citizens 
Confess  none. 

Bia.  Ah !     Do  they  make  wit  a  crime, 

Who  have  no  taint  of  its  color?     Say  'twere  red 
The  senators  would  never  be  mistook 
For  woodpeckers.     Gods !     When  they  prate,  I  know 
Athene's  owl  is  stuffed,  and  her  wise  serpent 
An  old-year  slough !     Off  now !     Your  pannier's  full. 
Trot  and  unpack. 

[Exit  Hippargus] 

Cre.  Out!     Follow,  and  deny 

This  answer!  Dare  you,  standing  on  the  top 
And  slippery  point  of  fortune,  throw  your  cap 
In  Heaven's  face? 

Bia.  Dare  I  do  less?     No,  friend. 
The  Council  fears  me,  and  would  see  me  down. 
My  power  is  in  the  people,  who  for  gold 
And  merry  flattery  give  me  their  love. 
But  now  they're  on  the  quibble  how  to  turn,     . 
To  me  or  Sinon.     I'll  not  let  them  see 
My  office  brought  to  question,  and  myself 
Outfaced  by  perjurers  in  Sinon's  keep. 
Nay,  when  they  find  I'm  not  the  senate's  groom, 
But  know  myself,  their  pride  will  know  me  too, 
And  I  shall  go  to  bed  as  I  rose  up, 
The  Athenian  general. 

Cre.  The  street  will  bellow. 

I'll  listen  to  it,  and  pick  interpretation 
From  'ts  roar.     You'll  come  with  me? 

Bia.  Though  oracles, 

On  every  curb  and  step,  begged  audience, 
I'd  not  go  out. 

[Exit  Creon] 


122  ASONOFHERMES 


Pha.  Oh, 


me: 


Bia.  Why  so?     I'm  not  a  hare 

To  jump  because  a  leaf  falls.     Wag  the  hour, 
And  Pleasure  wait  on  us !     If  she  fill  not 
My  cup  to-day,  I  fear  it  must  go  empty 
A  good  twelvemonth.     There  are  fair  maids 
In  Syracuse,  but  they'll  peer  on  me  through 
A  crimson  lattice. 

Pha.  You'll  not  see  them,  sir! 

Or  break  a  thousand  oaths !     So  oft  you've  sworn 
No  beauty  out  of  Athens  could  persuade 
Your  eyes  to  worship. 

Syb.  Then  the  Spartan  maid 

Lodged  here  will  let  him  sleep. 

Bia.  What  maid  is  this? 

Pha.  Why,  Pyrrha, — Stesilaus'  daughter. 

Bia.  Here? 

Pha.  Ay,  everybody's  here. 

Syb.  I  saw  her  leave 

The  chariot.     Such  clothes ! 

Pha.  No  clothes,  you  mean! 

Syb.  [In  shocked  aside]  Just  to  the  knees! 

Pha.  And  open  to  the  hips ! 

Syb.  You  say  it! 

Pha.  And  manners,  none.     I  took  her  nuts 

And  sugared  poppy  seeds.     She  said  she  kept 
No  parrot. 

Syb.  Here's  a  guest! 

Pha.  And  when  I  said 

I  lived  on  them 

Bia.  My  dainty! 

Pha.  — then  she  asked 

If  that  made  me  so  little! 

Bia.  Ay,  they  feed 

To  grow  in  Sparta.     Breed  but  monsters  there. 


ASONOFHERMES  123 

No  arts,  no  grace,  no  soft  and  tendrilled  speech 

That  creeps  to  ends  of  being  and  looks  back 

Exultant  and  afraid.     They  are  not  men, 

But,  wearing  human  port,  would  force  on  us 

A  beastly  comradeship.     Set  me  to  woo 

A  toad  bred  in  a  ditch  of  Attica, 

But  not  a  maid  of  Sparta!     Were  she  fair 

As  was  Persephone  when  she  drew  the  god 

From  nether  earth,  yet  sprung  from  that  hard  soil, 

I'd  let  her  beauty  pass. 

Syb.  Hist,  Biades! 

She's  yonder. 

[They  look  middle  left,  where  Pyrrha  appears] 

Pha.  I  like  the  garden  best  when  't  wears 
Pale  Cybele's  gown.     Apollo  makes  it  harsh 
In  black  and  gold — Ah,  Pyrrha !     You  have  found 
Our  blossomy  corner.     Welcome  to  it,  and  know 
My  neighbor,  Sybaris, — and  Biades. 

Pyrr.  I  greet  you,  friends  of  Athens. 

Pha.  Will  you  sit? 

Bia.  [Who  has  not  removed  his  gaze  from  her  since  her 
entrance]  A  walk!    That  was  your  wish. 
I'll  show  the  paths. 

Syb.  Nay,  here's  a  seat. 

Bia.  There's  Artystone's  rose, 

Brought  from  the  Mysian  stream— 

Pha.  She'll  stay  with  us. 

Bia.  The  ivory  cup  of  Isis,  where  each  night 
Her  one  tear  falls, — and  flowers  whose  sisters  blow 
In  walled  Ecbatana. 

Syb.  Come,  sit  by  me, 

Dear  Pyrrha. 

Pyrr.  I  would  see  the  garden. 

Syb.  [Rising]  Would? 

We'll  guide  you  then. 


124  A    SON    OF    HERMES 

Pha.  Ay,  who  would  dawdle  here? 

Bia.  But  rest  a  moment,  Pyrrha.     I  mind  me  now, 
That  from  this  spot  the  eye  may  best  o'ersweep 
The  full  design.     Yon  mass  of  planes 

Pyrr.  I'll  walk 

Alone.  [Moves  off,  lower  right] 

Syb.  Well! 

Pha.  Said  I  not? 

Syb.  Does  nothing  that 

She's  asked!     And  stares  as  though  a  woman's  eyes 
Were  made  to  see  with,  when  their  chiefest  use 
Is  not  to  see! 

Pha.  Crude  as  her  Spartan  rocks! 

Bia.  I'll  follow. 

Syb.  Nay,  she'd  walk  alone! 

Bia.  She's  Athens'  guest. 

I'll  not  be  rude,  whatever  lack  in  her 
Provokes  me  to  it. 

Pha.  Nor  shall  I,  by  all 

The  grace  in  th'  world! 

Syb.  You  shame  us,  Biades. 

We'll  go  with  you. 

[Each  takes  an  arm  of  Biades  as  he  goes  right.     Pelagon 
enters ,  upper  left} 

Pel.  Daughter,  this  way ! 

[Phania  returns  reluctantly.     The  others  pass  off,  right] 

Pel.  My  chick,— 

Nay,  I'll  be  brief.     I  know  young  feet  would  flock. 

Pha.  O,  father  dear,  I'd  please  you  first!     [Kissing  him] 

Pel.  Well,  well! 

You've  seen  Lord  Stesilaus? 

Pha.  Just  a  peek. 

Pel.  Nay,  he's  no  bear. 

Pha.  He'll  bite  though.     I  know  that. 


ASONOFHERMES  125 

Pel.  Now,  Phania,  now!     I  have  a  reason,  miss, 
A  most  dear  reason  you  should  win  the  love 
Of  Stesilaus. 

Pha.  Love! 

Pel.  I  mean,  my  duck, 

A  father's  gentle  love. 

Pha.  But,  daddy,  he's 

So  tall! 

Pel.  He  has  a  heart,  my  daughter. 

Pha.  Fum! 

Are  you  so  sure? 

Pel.                  Find  it  the  shortest  way. 
Remember  he's  your — hmm! — remember — hmm! — 
That  he's  a  man — as  I  am — and  his  pride 
But  April  frost.     Be  as  he  were  myself 

Pha.  As  you?     Oh,  dear!     [Under  his  arm] 

And  must  I  cuddle  so? 
Nay,  that's  for  my  own  fa-fa! 

Pel.  Little  Phania! 

I'll  lose  my  pipit, — lose  my  bonny  bird! 

Pha.  Lose  me?     O,  never,  daddy,  never!     I'm 
Your  pipsey,  wipsey,  umpsey,  ownty  own! 

Pel.  [Resolutely]  Wait  here.     I'll  send  him  by. 

Pha.  But,  father,  why 

Pel.  Nay,  that's  my  secret.     Not  for  little  birds. 

[Exit  upper  left.  Phania  waits  until  he  disappears,  then 
turns  flying,  and  vanishes  lower  right.  Archippe  and 
Sachinessa  enter,  middle  left] 

Sac.  Blest  be  Athene,  there's  nobody  here ! 
The  house  is  overrun,  and  Pelagon 
Has  twenty  shadows,  one  at  every  door. 
Out,  in, — in,  out, — with  ears  like  aprons  held 
For  every  whisper!     Here  we're  safe  to  talk. 

Arc.  O,  dearest  Sachinessa,  what's  to  do? 

Sac.  We'll  go  to  Philon.     If  he  says  confess 


126  ASONOFHERMES 

Arc.  Confess?     I'll  never  do  it !     I  will  take 
What  way  he  will  but  that,  though  't  be  the  one 
Leads  out  of  life.     You  do  not  know  my  lord ! 

Sac.  Your  Stesilaus  is  no  god,  Archippe. 
I'll  tell  you  that. 

Arc.  If  it  should  come  to  him 

We  never  changed  our  daughters !     If  he  learns 
That  twenty  years  I've  made  him  wear  the  hood, 
His  roof  no  more  would  shade  me.     Nay!     Confess? 
Oh,  Sachinessa,  I  should  lose  him  quite! 

Sac.  That  could  be  borne,  I  think. 

Arc.  But  lose  my  Pyrrha? 

Be  driven  out  from  her?     See  her  no  more? 

Sac.  There,  friend,  you  stir  me.     Such  a  piece  of  man! 
To  strike  like  that  because  a  woman's  wit 
Has  clipped  his  own!    He's  not  suspected  you 
In  all  these  years? 

Arc.  Not  once.     I've  watched  myself 
As  I  were  my  own  jailer,  fenced  my  heart, 
And  made  my  love  a  thief  that  gave  my  child 
No  open  looks,  but  by  her  bed  at  night 
Stole  comfort  as  she  slept. 

Sac.  Not  I,  Archippe! 

I've  laughed  above  the  snores  of  Pelagon, 
Knowing  my  darling  near,  whom  he  thought  far 
As  Sparta.     Come !     You're  taller  by  a  head 
Than  I,  yet  die  with  quaking.     And  I  thought 
Each  Lacedsemon  wife  a  lioness. 

Arc.  Ah,  but  their  lords  are  lions. 

Sac.  Well,  they've  mane 

Enough,  but  they'd  not  shake  it  in  my  face. 

Arc.  Will  you  confess? 

Sac.  Why,  no.     For  Pelagon 

Would  play  the  spousal  saint,  sit  on  the  clouds, 
And  with  a  piety  intolerable 


ASONOFHERMES  127 

Forgive  his  perjured  wife.     What  soul  could  bear  it? 
But  I'll  not  part  with  Phania,  know  you  that! 

Arc.  What  then? 

Sac.  We'll  go  to  Philon.     How  to  keep 

Our  secret  and  our  daughters, — that's  a  nut 
To  break  the  oracle's  teeth. 

Arc.  If  Jt  can  be  done ! 

Sac.  It  must  be  done,  Archippe.     Come, — I  hear 
A  chatter.     This  way  out. 

[They  leave,  upper  right.     Blades,  Pyrrha,  Sybaris,  and 
Phania  enter  lower  right] 

Pha.  What  of  our  garden, 

Now  all  is  seen? 

Pyrr.  Here  gods  should  live,  not  men. 

At  every  turn  I  seemed  to  lose  the  step 
Of  a  departing  deity. 

Syb.  We  are  content 

With  our  Athenian  lords,  and  seek  no  charm 
To  turn  them  into  gods. 

Bia.  [Showing  a  locket]  I've  here  a  charm 
Does  more  than  that.     This  jewel  webbed 
In  mystic  rings — and  set 

Syb.  The  Persian  gem! 

You  promised  me 

Bia.                           It  is  a  magic  stone, 
That  gazed  upon  by  a  true-minded  maid 

Pha.  [Securing  the  trinket]  I'll  see  it,  sir! 

I've  heard  you  vow  your  bride 
Should  wear  this  locket. 

Bia.  [To  Phania]  So  she  shall. 

[To  Sybaris]  None  else! 
[To  Pyrrha] 

You  hear  my  oath.     Come,  Sybaris,  sit  here 
And,  Phania, — come!     You  both  shall  peep  at  fate 


128  ASONOFHERMES 

Through  a  ruby  portal,  if  your  hearts  be  true. 
Now  fix  your  look 

Pha.  We'll  see  the  same! 

Bia.  Not  so. 

Each  fortune's  connate  with  the  gazer's  star, 
And  tinted  as  she  dreams.  Direct  your  eyes 
With  flawless  constancy,  or  you'll  see  naught. 

Pha.  Not  lift  them  once? 

Bia.  Nay,  fasten  every  thought 

Deep  in  the  jewel's  fire,  till  I  have  said 
The  Persian  chant  of  welcome  to  the  spirit 
Whose  magic  you  shall  see. 

Pha.  A  spirit?     Oh! 

Bia.  But  she  is  fair, — framed  as  divinity 
For  adoration. 

Syb.  She! 

Bia.  Lift  not  your  eyes. 

[Stands  behind  Phania  and  Sybaris  and  makes  the  incan- 
tation an  ardent  address  to  Pyrrha] 

Spirit  of  Fate,  what  mystical  wooing 
May  win  thee  to  pause  where  we  pray? 

Misers  of  Dream  their  locks  are  undoing, — 
Mistress  of  Keys,  wilt  thou  stay? 

Priestess,  thyself,  O  fairer  than  dreaming, 

Art  deity's  answer  to  prayer! 
Dusk  in  thine  eyes  is  the  seer-burthen  gleaming, 

And  moon-wands  at  rest  in  thy  hair. 

Far-foot  Desire  is  lost  in  the  winding 

Of  valleys  and  gardens  of  thee! 
Hoop  of  white  arms  is  circumferent  binding 

The  star-pastured  world  and  me! 

[Sybaris  throws  the  locket  at  his  feet.     He  turns  and  sees 
that  she  and  Phania  have  risen  and  are  staring  at  him] 


ASONOFHERMES  129 

Pyrr.  [After  a  silence]  I  do  not  know  this  game.     Will 

leave  you  to  it.     [Exit,  middle  left] 
Syb.  And  I'll  go  home!     [Exit,  lower  left] 
Pha.  And  I'll  go  tell  my  father! 

[Exit,  upper  left] 

Bia.  And  I'll  go  stand  in  th'  donkey  mart  and  bray 
Till  a  farmer  buys  me!     Witched,  and  by  a  Spartan! 
Mad  as  the  fleeing  ass  of  Thessaly !     [Exit,  upper  right] 

[Curtain] 


ACT   II 

SCENE  :  The  same  as  first  act,  a  few  minutes  later.  Phania 
is  discovered  in  rear.  Stesilaus  walks  frozenly  back  and 
forth,  front,  while  she  timidly  advances  and  retreats] 

Pha.  [Approaching]  I'm  Phania,  sir. 

Ste.  [Looks  at  her  incredulously,  then  walks  left,  leaving 

her  centre]  My  blood  and  bone  in  that! 
What  dwarf -dish  has  she  fed  on?     Ugh! 

Pha.  [Crossing]  I've  come 

To  walk  with  you.     You  like  our  garden,  sir? 
We've  bulbuls  in  it, — and  wee,  visiting  wings 
From  the  unknown  south.     Can  see  them  if  you  watch 
A  place  I  know.     They  dart  like  breathing  bits 
Of  chrysoprase  and  sard  o'  the  sun. 

Ste.  Humph!    You 

Are  Phania? 

Pha.  [Braver]  Troth,  I  am!     Wilt  see  a  nest- 
So  small  as — that !     Could  put  it  on  your  thumb. 

[Takes  his  hand] 

I'll  show  you,  sir.     Don't  you  love  little  things? 
They  wiggle  to  the  heart,  my  daddy  says. 
You  love  my  daddy,  don't  you? 

Sle.  Ugh!    Your— Ugh! 

Pha.  [Defensive]  I  love  him, — yes,  and  all  his  friends. 

I  do, 

Though  they're — so  tall.     I  come  just  to  your  beard. 
See  now!     [Leans  against  him] 

Ste.  Get  off !     You  squeaking  pewit !     Ugh ! 

Pha.  [Quiveringly]  Have  I  displeased  you,  sir? 

130 


ASONOFHERMES  131 

Ste.  Displeased  me?    No. 

You  make  contentment  creep  on  honored  bones 
Far  back  as  Lacedsemon's  earliest  grave 
That  opened  for  my  house.     You  turn  my  blood 
That's  not  yet  earthed,  and  hot  as  Sparta's  pride, 
To  drops  that  mutiny  'gainst  their  own  succession 
And  beg  to  be  the  end.     Displeased?     Oh,  no! 

[Retires,  rear] 

Pha.  Oh,  sir— 

[Fails,  and  goes  off  weeping,  lower  right.     Enter,  upper 
right,  Biades  and  Creon] 

Cre.  But  this  confusion,  many-throated, 
Has  single  voice  and  warns  articulate. 
A  treasonous  tempest  rises,  and  you  stand 
A  god  indifferent  when  you  should  bethink 
Yourself  most  mortal.     Vilest  mouths  puff  bold 
In  Sinon's  service.     You  must  wax  your  way 
To  th'  Council— 

Bia.  Nay,  no  bending  there ! 

Cre.  But 

Bia.  Peace ! 

Here's  Stesilaus!     He's  most  heavy  shipped. 
What  is  aboard?     And  now  comes  Pelagon, 
With  's  threshing-tongue  a-ready.     Chaff  will  fly. 
[Enter  Pelagon,  upper  left] 

Pel.  What  thinkst  of  Phania?     Is  she  not  a  chick? 

Ste.  You've  tricked  me,  Pelagon !     What  f ubbery 
Have  you  put  on  me? 

Pel.  Sir?     Now,  now!     Why,  friend! 

Ste.  That's  not  my  daughter! 

Bia.  [Drawing  Creon  back]  Whist! 

Ste.  I'll  see  my  own! 

My  Phania!     Not  that  bib, — that  mewling  piece, 
With  th'  milk  still  in  her  mouth! 


132  A    SON    OF    HERMES 

Pel.  Speak  so  of  her? 

A  bud  in  th'  dew!    A  cherry  next  its  leaf! 
A  pippin  on  the  limb ! 

Ste.  Not  mine,  I  say! 

Pel.  If  you  repent  you  did  beget  her,  sir, 
I'll  be  your  shift  and  own  the  curtained  deed 
Tore  man  and  Heaven. 

Ste.  That  my  child? 

Pel.  Yours,  friend. 

Ste.  Would  she  had  never  left  Archippe's  lap 
For  Sachinessa's !     Patience,  cool  my  tongue ! 
But  I've  done  better  by  your  Pyrrha! 

Pel.  Soft, 

Beseech  you,  Stesilaus !     Here's  no  place 
For  trumpeting  our  secret.     And  brief  time 
Forbids  it  present  voice.     The  hour  is  on 
To  hear  the  people's  answer.     Come,  my  lord. 
Your  comrades  go  before  you.     We're  past  late. 

Ste.  Friend  Pelagon,  though  courtesy  be  pressed 
To  th'  kibe,  I'll  urge  you  keep  at  home.     'Tis  best 
You  be  not  seen  in  this.     The  lords,  who  know 
You  lean  to  Sparta, — and  for  that  all  thanks, — 
Are  pricked  therewith  to  oppose  us,  when  they  else 
Might  voice  us  favor. 

Pel.  Ay,  they  know  me,  friend. 

My  eye  sets  them  at  guard.     They  feel  it,  sir! 
Puts  them  on  screw.     Well,  so, — I'll  stay  behind. 
But  let  me  set  you  forth.     [Exeunt.,  upper  right] 

Bia.  Is  't  trick,  or  truth? 

Cre.  Touch  me!     A  needle's  point 

Could  find  no  spot  amazement  hath  not  taken ! 

Bia.  Didst  hear  it  Creon?     Pyrrha  an  Athenian! 
O,  words  of  miracle,  if  ye  be  true, — 
Friend,  friend,  I'm  in  a  whirl  upon  a  way 


A    SON    OF    HERMES  133 

To  use  this  strange  unearthment  for  the  good 
Of  Athens.     You'll  be  silent,  Creon? 

Ore.  Nay, 

I  think— 

Bia.  And  now  I've  lost  fair  Phania! 

Cre.  Lost? 

Bia.  With  Mars  i'  the  dusk  of  this  debated  time, 
The  Athenian  general  may  not  wive  himself 
With  Sparta. 

Cre.  True! 

Bia.  I  might  give  up  command, 

And  be  no  more  my  country's  armored  watch 

Nay,  Attica  is  first!     That's  sworn.     I'll  plunge 
The  sacrificial  knife  deep  as  my  love. 
And  now  'tis  done.     Ah,  Creon,  tend  thee  well 
My  gentle  loss. 

Cre.  This  sets  thee  o'er  thyself! 
O  noblest  bounty  that  in  grace  compeers 
With  emulous  Heaven !     What  in  me  can  pay 

Bia.  No  more  of  't  now.     But  what  a  secret  this ! 
If  't  solely  were  my  own — 

Cre.  It  is,  my  lord! 

'Tis  yours.     I  have  no  speech,  no  tongue  for  't! 

Bia.  Thanks, 

My  Creon,  thanks !    And  will  you  go  once  more 
To  th'  street,  where  now  it  seems  I  have  some  need 
Of  loyal  ears? 

Cre.  I  serve  you,  Biades.     [Exit,  upper  right] 

Bia.  Fast  hooked,  and  feels  no  barb.     If  he'll  lie  dark 

Till  I  would  stir  the  waters Is  it  truth? 

Pyrrha !     Athenian  born  and  Spartan  bred ! 
By  Mars  and  Eros !    Here's  a  captain's  bride ! 
There's  flutter  in  me  like  a  forest  shook 
With  waking  birds ! 

[Re-enter  Phania,  still  weeping] 


134  ASONOFHERMES 

Bia.  Why,  Phania!     Such  a  shower, 
My  kitkin! 

Pha.  Stesilaus  sh-shook  me  so! 
Called  me  a  sque-e-aking  pewit! 

Bia.  Ha!    He  did? 

Well,  listen  to  me,  Phania.     Come,  look  up. 

[Lifts  her  chin] 

A  maid  with  little  eyes  should  never  weep. 
Leave  that  to  Juno  orbs.     They  swim  in  sorrow 
Like  full  moons  in  a  lake,  but  beads  like  yours 
Are  only  bright  when  dry.     Shun  grief  as  you 
Shun  mud.     [Exit,  middle  left} 

Pha.  [Gasping]  Why — Biades — he's  gone! 

He  said 

Oh,  oh!    If  I  could  die 

[Sobs  with   abandon.     Enter  Alcanor,  upper   left.     He 
pauses  before  her.     She  looks  up  bewildered] 

Ale.  Ah,  gentle  star, 

What  shrouds  thee  in  this  rain?     Yet  thou'rt  not  hid. 
Thy  beauty  shining  on  these  clouds  of  pearl 
Makes  every  drop  that  dies  reflecting  thee 
A  little,  falling  sun. 

Pha.                      Oh,  Biades  said- 
He  said — he  said 

Ale.  If  what  he  said  so  troubles, 

Let  me  unsay  it  with  a  kiss  that  makes 
Trouble  forgot  and  dumb.     [Kisses  her] 

Pha.  [On  his  bosom]  I'm  not — I'm  not — 
Not  ugly,  sir? 

Ale.  O,  dove  of  Aphrodite! 

Earth  stores  her  beauty  in  this  single  face, 
That  she  may  show  one  jewel  to  the  skies 
When  gods  boast  they  have  all! 

[Phania  purrs  comfortedly,  then  releases  herself] 


A    SON    OF    HERMES  135 

Pha.  How  dare  you,  sir, 

Attack  me?     Who  are  you? 

Ale.  I  do  not  know. 

Pha.  Not  know? 

Ale.  Nothing  of  self  or  where  I  am. 

It  may  be  those  are  trees  on  giant  guard, 
And  these  bright  peeping  things  are  flowers'  eyes, 
And  this  is  happy  grass  we  stand  upon, 
And  that  blue  watcher  is  the  faithful  sky, 
But  I  know  naught  except  my  soul  is  yours, 
O,  maid-magician,  in  whose  snare  I  lie 
Kissing  the  net  that  binds  me !     [Kissing  her  fallen  curls] 

Pha.  But  you  know 

Your  name! 

Ale.  Not  in  this  world  a  minute  old 
That  now  I  find  me  in,  but  in  time  past 
I  was  Alcanor,  Stesilaus'  son. 

Pha.  O ! — then — why — all  is  well !     You're  noble,  sir ! 
My  father  will  approve  you. 

Ale.  Hast  a  father? 

And  art  not  magic-born?     Then  I  perceive 
I  must  go  back  and  find  my  earthly  wits. 

Pha.  Nay,  he  is  Pelagon,  your  father's  friend. 

Ale.  You're  Phania,  then! 

Pha.  [Giving  her  hand]  I  am. 

Ale.  No  more  than  this? 

No  kiss? 

Pha.  [Very  shy]  You've  had  it,  sir. 

Ale.  A  phantom  one! 

'Twas  in  a  dream,  as  two  ghost-lovers  meet 
On  an  Elysian  path.     Too  cold  for  earth! 

Pha.  [Touching  her  cheek]  Nay,  it  is  warm  here  yet. 

[He  takes  her  in  his  arms,  and  they  withdraw  lower  right. 
Pelagon  enters,  upper  right,  in  time  to  witness  the  em- 
brace] 


136  ASONOFHERMES 

Pel.  [Rousing  from  his  horror]  Her  brother !     Gods ! 
Whip  me  all  hagglers!     We  have  stood  so  long 
At  door  of  our  confession  that  this  shame 
Gets  by  us.     Phania  and  Alcanor!     Oh! 
No  shuffling  now!     When  Stesilaus  comes, 
The  tale  must  out! 

[Enter  Pyrrha,  middle  left.     She  crosses,  passing  Pelagon, 
who  retreats  rear,  unseen  by  her.     She  loiters  right] 

Pel.                       Here's  opportunity 
At  beck.  I'll  follow.  [Advances]  Ahem !  My  daughter, 

Pyrr.  Sir? 

You  seek  your  daughter?     I  will  look  this  way. 

[Goes  farther  right] 

Pel.  I  must  advance,  and  take  her  Spartan  guard 
With  gentleness.     My  love,  'tis  you  I  seek. 

Pyrr.  [Stiffly]  You'd  speak  to  me? 

Pel.  My  little  Pyrrha,— 

Pyrr.  Little! 

Pel.  I  think  of  Phania.     In  my  heart  you  both 
Hold  undivided  place.     Shall  we  not  chat  a  bit, 
My  Pyrrha? 

Pyrr.  Kitchen  maids  do  that,  not  men 
Of  State. 

Pel.  Nay,  there's  a  time  when  one  may  cast 
The  civic  garment  and  take  household  ease 
In  modest  robe. 

Pyrr.  [Aside]  A  swaddling  band  would  fit  him ! 

Pel.  You  will  not  hear  me? 

Pyrr.  I  wait  upon  you,  sir. 

For  if  your  hostship  I  forget,  and  leave 
The  fees  of  grace  unpaid,  I  yet  must  know 
You  are  my  father's  friend.     Say  what  you  will, 
My  lord. 

Pel.  That  word  undears  me !     Let  your  tongue 
Breach  colder  custom  and  give  me  a  name 


ASONOFHERMES  137 

That  brings  me  near  in  love  as  Stesilaus. 
Wilt  call  me  father,  Pyrrha? 

Pyrr.  [Retreating]  You,  my  lord? 

Pel.  They've  frozen  her,  poor  child!     Must  blow  more 

warm. 

Indeed  a  father.     Call  me  what  I  am, 
For  so  I  love  you,  Pyrrha. 

Pyrr.  Is  it  thus 

The  Athens  sages  talk? 

Pel.                              Ay,  we're  not  cut 
Of  ice  as  Spartans  are.     Here  your  poor  heart 
Shall  know  what  sun  is,  and  the  Springs  you've  lost, 
Betrayed  without  a  bloom  in  frigid  Sparta, 
In  Athens  shall  blow  fair.     You  are  amazed, 
My  sweet,  but  by  this  kiss 

Pyrr.  [Giving  him  a  blow]  You  goose-eyed  goat! 
I  strike  not  at  your  years,  Lord  Pelagon,  ; 

But  at  your  mind  which  has  not  come  of  age 
And  gives  me  elder  right. 

[Exit,  middle  left.     While  Pelagon  is  recovering,  enter 
Stesilaus,  upper  right] 

Pel.  [Welcoming  the  interruption]  You,  Stesilaus? 
So  soon,  friend,  from  the  Assembly? 

Ste.  Late,  sir,  late! 

More  haste  had  been  more  prudence. 

Pel.  Why,  why,  why! 

Ste.  Where  is  your  buttery  nephew,  Biades? 
Who  slips  to  the  seat  of  question  and  melts  all 
Into  one  potch  of  folly! 

Pel.  But  I'd  know— 

Ste.  Why  I  am  here,  not  there?     A  crater  mouth 
That  calls  itself  a  people  hissed  eruption 
Into  my  face,  and  without  bow  I  set 
My  back  to  't,  sir! 


138  A    SON    OF    HERMES 

Pel.                      Blame  me  for  all!     I  knew 
I  should  not  stay  behind!     The  gods  do  know 
I  am  the  voice  of  Athens.     Tis  no  pride 
That  speaks  bare  truth.     I'll  go 

Ste.  Tuh,  tuh! 

A  word  with  Biades 

Pel.                               But  not  too  sharp, 
My  friend.     He  is  of  weight 

Ste.  No  sharper  than 

My  stick!     Then  I  set  out  for  Sparta,  where 
The  very  ground  knows  Stesilaus  walks ! 

Pel.  And  Phania  goes  with  you? 

Ste.  Not  if  the  chit 

May  corner  in  your  kitchen !     She's  worth  that. 

Pel.  You'll  leave  her  here? 

Ste.  It  will  content  me.     I'll 

Surrender  both. 

Pel.  What?     Both!    Nay,  your  free  heart 
Shall  not  outdo  my  own. 

Ste.  You'll  give  me  Pyrrha? 

Pel.  Friend  of  my  soul,  I  will! 

Ste.  [Moved]  Thanks,  Pelagon. 

She's  dearer  than  my  son.     More  like  my  blood. 
Alcanor  is  too  soft  and  woman-lipped. 
Too  much  Archippe  in  him  from  his  birth, 
Nor  blows  could  drive  it  out. 

Pel.  And  mine  own  eyes 

Have  seen  a  cooing  match  between  himself 
And  Phania. 

Ste.  Zeus!    His  sister! 

Pel.                                While  we  speak, 
The  fated  pair  are  yonder 

Ste.  I'll  get  him  home! 

And  leave  the  witch  to  you!     Had  I  a  doubt 


ASONOFHERMES  139 

To  hold  me  back,  this  turn  would  be 
Decision's  point.     She  must  stay  here. 

Pel.  But  how 

Make  answer  to  our  wives?     Our  wisdom's  nicked 
Where  it  is  tenderest  if  we  confess. 

Ste.  What's  to  confess?     I  know  my  will  and  do  it. 

Pel.  Ay,  ay,  you  bear  your  wife  in  a  sack,  but  mine 
Is  on  her  feet  and  goes  her  pace.     Look  yon! 
They  come  together!     A  brace,  and  one  of  them 
Would  tie  my  tongue. 

Ste.  Tie  water  in  a  brook ! 

[Archippe  and  Sachinessa  enter  upper  right] 

Sac.  We  do  not  come  to  shame  you,-  noble  lords 
And  husbands,  though  we've  that  to  bear  which  put 
To  honest  ballad  would  uncrest  your  pride 
And  clip  a  reef  or  two  from  the  tall  sail 
Of  dignity. 

Ste.  Why,  madam,  this  approach? 

Sac.  I  walk,  sir,  in  my  garden  when  I  please. 

Arc.  We  have  a  suit,  my  honored  lords,  which  you 
May  think  full  strange,  remembering  our  prayers 
Of  twenty  years  ago. 

Ste.  What  suit  canst  have? 

If  you  must  try  the  goose-step  out  of  doors, 
Go  thank  the  gods  for  suiting  you  with  me, 
Who  save  you  from  all  suit  by  hearing  none. 

Sac.  Not  hear  us,  sir?     I'll  catch  you  by  the  ears 
And  shake  the  pride-wool  out,  but  you  shall  hear! 
Suited  with  you !     And  then  go  thank  the  gods ! 

Pel.  Why,  Sachinessa,  love!     \Vhat  you,  duck? 

Sac.  This,  Pelagon.     When  in  that  sad  year  gone 
You  took  my  child  from  me — 

Pel.  What?     That  again? 

Sac.  Not  that,  but  this.     I  did  not  stay  you  then, 
Being  young  in  wedlock  and  my  wit  at  cheep 


140  ASONOFHERMES 

In  its  first  feathers.     But  this  second  time 
When  you  lift  up  your  hand  to  cut  the  bough 
Whose  root  is  in  my  heart,  I'll  speak  so  loud 
That  if  your  dull  ear  miss,  I'll  reach  you  yet 
By  way  o'  the  stars  that  will  cry  back  my  wrong 
When  they  so  hear  it. 

Pel.  You  would  beg  for  Phania? 

Sac.  I  would.     There  is  no  source  of  love  so  great 
As  brooding  care.     That  makes  the  mother,  not 
The  childing  pangs.     Though  she,  from  the  first  hour, 
Will  cherish  what  she  must  so  dearly  buy, 
'Tis  day  by  watchful  day  her  swelling  love 
Is  born.     So  I,  as  new  days  past,  forgot 
The  child  of  my  brief  pain,  and  gave  to  one 
That  nestled  in  her  place  my  care-born  love. 
Now  you  would  strike  again 

Pel.  Sweet,  by  my  soul, — 

Nay,  Sachinessa,  dearest  heart,  be  calm. 
Your  words  have  never  in  our  mated  life 
Moved  me  as  now.     If  Stesilaus  yields, 
And  his  stern  will  be  broken  by  your  plea, 
I  am  content. 

Ste.  I'm  so  far  moved,  my  friend, 
That  I  will  hear  Archippe  speak  her  wish. 
Her  love  for  Pyrrha  will  not  match  with  that 
Your  wife  bestows  on  Phania. 

Arc.  Ay,  my  lord, 

I've  never  loved  the  stranger  as  my  own, 
But  she  is  dearer  than  my  own  grown  strange. 
I  see  in  Phania  all  my  tender  loss, 
But  it  is  lost  forever.     Give  me,  Pyrrha. 
I  have  no  other  daughter. 

Ste.  Keep  her,  dame. 

But  make  this  weakness  not  your  heckling  ground 
Where  you  would  spar  for  favors.     No  more  suits! 


ASONOFHERMES  141 

Pel.  And,  Sachinessa,  hear  the  same  from  me. 

Sac.  You  borrow  feathers  and  I'll  twitch  'em  out! 

Ste.  [To  Archippe]  Lest  you  should  badger,  footed  safe 

on  this, 

Know  that  my  judgment's  not  earwigged  by  you 
To  this  repeal,  but  now  configures  pat 
To  the  act  itself,  that  keeps  a  constant  step 
With  our  first  purpose.     Our  intent  comes  out 
With  even  edges,  though  reversed  in  face. 
An  Athens'  maid  shall  be  a  Spartan  mother, 
And  here  shall  dwell  a  dame  of  Spartan  blood. 

Pel.  You  hear  it,  Sachinessa.     I'm  not  one 
To  throw  my  pack  away  in  sight  of  home. 
Come  mud,  come  mire,  I  bear  my  judgment  out, 
As  Athens  knows. 

Sac.  I'll  swear  to  it  there's  no  man 

I*  the  city  better  hides  the  sun  with  a  sieve ! 

Ste.  And  secondly,  my  dame,  know  that  I've  won 
My  high  contention  that  the  laws  of  Sparta 
Are  best  for  breeding  earth  a  godlike  race. 
For  here  my  proof  enroots  in  warmest  life 
That  they  can  aggrandize  the  chalky  veins 
Of  pampered  Attica  to  ducts  that  bear 
The  red,  unconquered  sap  of  Lacedaemon. 

Sac.  So  Pyrrha  is  your  proof! 

Ste.                                            No  question  there. 
A  weak,  Athenian  babe  grows  up  the  pride 
Of  Sparta,  while  a  budling  of  her  own, 
Nursled  by  Athens'  soft  and  careless  shift, 
Scarce  grows  to  woman's  level 

Sac.  Why,  you  puffed 

You  pride-blown 

Arc.  Come  with  me ! 

Sac.  But  such  a  bladder! 

He'd  top  a  flood  into  the  second  world 
And  wet  but  half  his  skin ! 


142  ASONOFHERMES 

Arc.  Nay,  Sachinessa, 

Our  suit  is  won.     No  words!     We'll  haste  once  more 
To  Philon's  shrine.     For  this  dear  joy  I'll  bend 
A  willing  knee.     Come,  come! 

[Draws  her  away,  upper  right] 

Pel.  [Capering]  Could  reel  it  now 
Like  school-boy  'scaped  a  whipping! 

Ste.  Shame !     Your  years 

Will  blush.     [Goes  left]  Now  Biades,  and  then  farewell! 

Pel.  Ah,  there's  my  mourning  cloak!     I'll  go  at  once 
To  th'  Council,  and 

Ste.  Vain  labor,  Pelagon. 

Pel  Nay,  I  will  stir  them! 

[Exit,  upper  right.  Biades  enters  left.  He  is  arrayed  in 
a  purple  gown  with  long  train  held  up  by  his  monkey. 
A  peacock  fan  swings  from  a  girdle,  and  jewels  dangle 
from  his  ears.  He  carries  a  scroll  from  which  he  reads 
as  he  walks,  tittering  over  the  matter.  Stesilaus  watches 
him  curiously,  then  amazedly  recognizes  him] 

Ste.  Biades!     Is 't  he? 

May  eyes  report  it  to  a  brain  unshaken? 
....  Ho,  sir, — or  madam? 

Bia.  Did  you  speak,  my  lord? 

Your  pardon !     I  was  buried  here, — quite  drowned 
I'  the  honey  of  this  tale.     Sir,  it  suggests, — 
But  that's  not  it, — the  style,  so  quaint,  so  pure, — 
It  plays  with  thoughts  and  leaves  them  bright  as  shells 
The  sea  has  polished  to  their  curling  edges. 
You'll  hear  this  line?     'Tis  worth  a  pause.     Eh,  not? 
You've  never  wooed  the  script?     Ah,  I  forget. 
War  is  the  art  of  Sparta. 

Ste.  Are  you  man? 

Bia.  What's  that  to  an  artist,  sir?     Life  in  me  packs 
The  germinal  grain  of  all,  and  what  may  come 
To  birth  and  bloom,  I  leave  to  nursing  Fate. 
But  you  seem  ruffled, — warm.     Pray  have  my  fan. 


ASONOFHERMES  143 

Then  take  my  parchment, — sit  you  in  this  nook 
And  read  of  Corys  and  his  water-nymph 
Until  the  charm  of  an  unhurrying  world 
Steals  wave-like  round  you. 

Ste.  Olympus !     Was  't  this  voice 
That  tripped  my  reason?     Led  my  cautious  years 
To  take  instruction  from  a  dizzened  ape 
And  lose  the  cause  they  guarded?     Was  't  myself 
So  slubbered  judgment 

Bia.  Ah,  must  I  believe 

You  honored  my  good  counsel? 

Ste.  Good! 

Bia.  'Twas  good 

For  Athens.     Ha,  you  slipped  into  the  noose 
As  easily  as  my  finger  takes  this  ring. 
A  wondrous  sapphire  here.     You  know  the  stone? 
This  is  from  Egypt, — has  the  desert  fire 
'Neath  Nilus'  liquid  smile.     Is  't  not  a  treasure? 
But  I  forget.     Your  Sparta  has  no  gems. 
By  Hera's  belt,  your  country  goes  too  bare 
For  this  adorned  earth! 

Ste.  Come,  Biades! 

Throw  off  that  gown,  and  with  a  captain's  sword 
Deny  this  folly! 

Bia.  Friend,  'tis  not  my  hour 

For  exercise.     Our  moods,  I  see,  would  quarrel. 
But  here's  my  thornless  world.     You'll  pardon  me. 

[Resumes  walking  and  reading  as  before.  Pyrrha  enters, 
middle  left,  and  stands  watching  him.  He  looks  up  and 
is  struck  motionless  to  find  her  eyes  upon  him.  She 
comes  nearer  for  a  detached  scrutiny,  then  crosses  right] 

Ste.  Find  me  Alcanor,  daughter.     And  this  hour 
We  leave  for  Sparta. 

Pyrr.  I  am  ready,  sir. 

[Exit,  lower  right.     Stesilaus  goes  into  house,  upper  left] 


144  ASONOFHERMES 

Bia.  She  has  good  eyes,  and  used  them.     Overshot, 
By  Hermes !     I  must  follow, — 'twixt  this  fool 
And  meditation's  eye  must  interpose 
My  soldier  self! 

[Tears  off  robe,  under  which  he  wears  a  simple,  belted 
tunic,  flings  jewels  from  his  ears,  and  drives  out  Bico. 
Goes  off,  lower  right.  Enter  Pelagon,  much  ruffled, 
from  street] 

Pel.  Where's  Stesilaus?     Stesilaus,  ho! 
Find  Stesilaus! 

[Stesilaus  returns,  upper  left] 
O,  my  friend,  they're  mad, 
/ind  you  must  fly!     I  never  was  so  battered! 
The  senators  cry  out  you  played  with  them 
As  though  their  stationed  honors  were  a  row 
Of  last  year's  weanlings, — first  to  say  you  bore 
Full  power  to  treat,  then  at  their  open  answer 
To  cover  and  prefer  the  opposite, 
Declaring  that  their  noble  terms  must  cool 
On  th'  road  to  Sparta !     As  I  speak  your  comrades 
Are  driven  through  the  gates.     You  must  not  stay. 
They'll   have   your    life,    they   are   so   worked.     Come, 

come! 
I  know  a  way — I'll  get  you  through 

Ste.  I'll  go 

The  way  I  came. 

Pel.  Nay,  nay,  I'll  slip  you  out! 

Leave  here  your  wife  and  daughter.     In  gentler  hour 
I'll  send  them  after,  with  your  son, — 

Ste.  I'll  speak 

To  Pyrrha— 

Pel.  No!     This  way!    The  world's  at  somersault! 
The  turtle's  on  his  back,  his  claws  to  Heaven! 
No  one  would  hear  me !     Me !    The  voice  of  Athens ! 
And  jeered  me  down,  for  I  was  Biades'  kin, — 


ASONOFHERMES  145 

Though  why  the  wind  sits  so  I  know  not! 
Come — come — I  was  so  battered 

[Exeunt,  upper  left.     Pyrrha  and  Blades  enter,  lower  right] 

Bia.  But  one  word! 

Pyrr.  I've  let  you  shower  words  in  hope  to  drain 
Your  breath  of  them,  but  they  grow  to  a  hail. 
Pelt  me  no  more,  Athenian. 

Bia.  O,  that  name 

I  held  my  pearl  of  honor  is  become 
A  wounding  thorn!     I'll  wear  't  no  more. 

Pyrr.  You'll  be 

A  Spartan? 

Bia.  Ay,  if  you  are  one ! 

Pyrr.  So  vows 

An  Athens'  captain. 

Bia.  Nay,  I  have  no  place, 

No  rank,  no  office,  duty  or  pursuit, 
But  this  my  gage  is  in.     Nor  rest  till  I  have  won ! 

Pyrr.  Then  you'll  die  weary,  sir.     So  long  'twill  take 
To  make  me  yours. 

Bia.  If  you  will  love  my  shade 

I'll  on  the  instant  make  myself  a  ghost! 

Pyrr.  Love's  burning  deeds  do  ever  lie  before  him. 
He  ne'er  gets  past  to  make  them  history. 

Bia.  O,  hear  my  oath!     Thy  birthland  shall  be  mine! 

Pyrr.  Whist,  Biades !    The  gods  might  hear  you  too. 

Bia.  I'll  swear  it  in  the  ears  of  Zeus! 

Pyrr.  By  what 

Irreverenced  deity  wilt  break  it? 

Bia.  Ah, 

By  none,  fair  Pyrrha!     I'll  stake  my  golden  part 
In  love's  eternity,  no  land's  more  dear 
To  my  own  heart  than  that  which  gave  you  birth. 

Pyrr.  Ay,  for  on  Spartan  soil  the  laurel  grows 


146  ASONOFHERMES 

Which  you  would  pluck  from  drenched  defeat  and  set 
Among  your  bays.     So  dear  as  that! 

[A  clamor  is  heard  in  street] 

Bia.  I'll  woo 

In  better  time.     Till  then  let  this  pure  gem 
Speak  for  me  on  your  breast.     Tis  like  my  love, 
No  sudden  thing.     For  as  this  captive  fire 
Dreamed  in  the  heart  of  earth  and  could  not  wake 
Till  beauty  born  in  man  sent  down  his  kiss, 
So  lay  my  love  in  Life  from  her  first  breath, 
Deep  as  unconsciousness,  till  at  your  step 
It  knew  itself.     You  scorn  the  half-hour  flame, 
But  in  your  coming  like  an  instant  dawn 
Find  all  its  brevity.     Ay,  Pyrrha,  sweet ! 
And  let  my  token  lie,  a  patient  prayer, 
Upon  your  bosom.     Heaven  should  have  its  sun! 

[Drops  the  locket  into  the  folds  of  her  dress.     She  casts  it 
to  the  ground] 

Pyrr.  Athens  is  such  a  sun,  and  Sparta  as  my  foot 
Shall  overcloud  it!     [Exit,  middle  left] 

Bia.  Had  she  crushed  my  gem 

To  bleeding  dust,  I'd  pay  it  o'er  to  see 
Such  flame  unsheathe.     Bright  Eos  necklaced  with 
A  darkling  east  could  not  more  beauteously 
Threat  earth  with  storm.     [Takes  up  the  locket] 

You'll  wear  it  yet,  my  terror, 
Or  I'll  cut  out  the  tongue  that  can  not  wag 
To  a  woman's  heart. 

[Enter  Creon  from  street] 
What,  Creon?     Dumb  with  news? 
Which  I  will  guess  before  your  tongue's  uncrimped. 
We've  lost  our  gentle  guests?     Our  Spartan  friends 
Are  off? 

Cre.  They're  driven  out.     But  that  is  old. 
Atop  that  tale,  like  mountain  on  a  hump, 
Comes  one  will  wake  you,  sir!     The  tumbling  streams 


A    SON    OF    HERMES  147 

That  bore  the  Spartans  out,  rage  back  again, 
A  gathered  flood  against  you, — you,  nay  lord ! 

Bia.  Ah! 

Cre.  Sinon's  poison  spreads  till  men 
That  yesterday  lay  down  before  you,  now 
Cry  for  your  death.  I  warned  you,  friend ! 

Bia.  You  did. 

Be  happy  then.     Your  duty's  done. 

Cre.  Oh,  sir, 

Your  house  is  sacked,  and  all  your  golden  plate, 
Parcelled  on  robber  backs,  is  carried  out 
And  spots  the  city  with  a  hundred  suns! 

Bia.  There's  more  i'  the  world.     Let  that  not  trouble 
you. 

Cre.  Your  robes  are  in  the  street,  and  carters'  wheels 
Grow  royal  with  them! 

Bia.  Well,  there  yet  are  looms. 

While  weavers  know  their  art  this  is  no  loss. 

Cre.  Your  pictures — 

Bia.  What?     If  they've  one  finger  laid 

On  those  immortal  treasures — 

Cre.  All  are  riddled! 

Bia.  All,  Creon?     Not  my  Zeuxis?     No!    The  stones 
Hurled  at  it  would  have  paused  as  though  a  god 
Were  hidden  there ! 

Cre.  All,  friend. 

Bia.  Ay,  these  are  tears. 

But  I  will  chide  them  and  think  on  my  sword. 
Now  I  must  bend  me  to  the  senators, — 
Get  leave  to  call  my  troops, — 

[Enter  a  body  of  senators,  Amentor  at  their  head] 

Most  noble  lords, 
I  was  about  to  seek  you. 

Amen.  Shifts  your  mood, 

Proud  Biades?     The  answer's  not  yet  cold 


148  A    SON    OF    HERMES 

That  came  so  hot  from  you, — a  two-edged  shame 
That  struck  into  your  honor  as  our  own ! 

Bia.  Nay,  gentle  senators,  Athenian  fathers ! 
That  you  could  note  so  low,  so  foul  a  charge 
As  secret  Sinon  brought  against  my  name, 
Gave  me  the  block,  the  bellows,  and  the  fire 
Wherewith  I  forged  my  answer, — one  that  kept 
My  honor  whole,  and  if  your  own  needs  surgery, 
Lay  't  not  to  me,  but  let  good  sense  mend  all, 
And  give  me  leave  to  go  against  this  mob 
Now  scarring  Athens'  beauty. 

Amen.  Go  alone. 

Bia.  I  have  an  army. 

Amen.  Ask  Lord  Sinon  that. 

Bia.  When  fishes  drown! 

Amen.  Put  out  your  single  arm, 

And  feel  your  army  in  it.     Athens'  troops 
Are  now  in  Sinon's  charge.     You  are  no  more 
Her  general.     You  are  banished. 

Bia.  Is  this  so? 

Senators.  It  is. 

Bia.  Then  I  am  dumb.     Words  on  your  heat 

Would  fall  as  snow, — and  I  am  not  a  man 
To  let  my  scars  speak,  though  my  body  bears 
Enough  to  cry  you  shame. 

Amen.  We  know  your  valor, 

But  with  it  goes  a  pride  no  State  could  bear 
But  that  it  must.     Make  your  escape,  my  lord. 
The  people  pressed  us,  and  we  save  your  life 
By  this  decree. 

Bia.  O,  Athens  that  did  love  me! 

Amen.  And  now  repents  that  love,  for  know  you,  sir, 
Though  men  may  be  irreverent  as  they  choose, 
They'll  follow  only  who  revere  their  gods. 
[Exeunt  senators] 


ASONOFHERMES  149 

Cre.  But  you  were  meek ! 

Bia.  If  I  had  let  them  know 

I've  yet  a  tongue,  they  might  have  had  that  too, 
And  in  the  courts  where  I  must  sue  for  love 
Twill  be  my  royal  member, — all  my  suite 
And  kingly  plenitude. 

Cre.  They  will  repent. 

Bia.  On  knees,  sir !  Banished !    O,  my  heart  could  lend 
Hot  Sirius  fire! 

Cre.  You !     Banished ! 

Bia.  Nay,  while  sense 

From  wit  and  speech  are  undivorced,  and  courage 
Knits  them  in  purpose  drinking  up  the  seas 
That  distance  me  from  Athens,  who  shall  say 
I'm  banished?     Bribe  mankind  and  nature  too, 
Ye  bleary  senators !     Suborn  the  winds ! 
Put  me  at  end  of  farthest  watery  leagues ! 
While  there's  no  rift  between  me  and  my  gods, 
I'll  shake  this  night  as  from  Apollo's  brow 
And  show  my  day  emergent! 

Cre.  Where  wilt  go? 

Bia.  To  Persia  first,  where  I  am  dear  to  Phernes. 
And  then,  perchance,  with  Persia  at  my  back, 
Sparta  may  find  me  fair,  though  now  I'm  black 
As  Pluto's  poker.     We'll  not  flag,  my  heart, 
Till  every  fleet  o'  the  world  rides  here  and  makes 
This  saucy  harbor  tremble!     What  an  ague  then 
Shall  shake  thee,  Athens,  thinking  on  this  hour! 

[Curtain] 


ACT    III 

SCENE:    The  assembly  ground  of  the  Spartans.     Maidens 
discovered.     A  dance  is  ending. 

Nac.   We   limped    through   that.     Apollo!     Are  there 

thorns 
F  the  grass?     We'll  better  it.     Come! 

Dia.  No  time.     I  hear 

The  senators. 

Nac.  They  wait  beyond  the  bridge 
For  old  Aristogeiton.     Come,  my  maids! 
You,  Dianessa  need  to  school  your  toes. 
'Twas  you  played  wild-foot — twice! 

Art.  Save  her  a  slip 

WThen  Agis'  eye  is  on  her! 

Nac.  Faith,  she'd  be 

No  bride  this  year! 

Dia.  What  ache  for  that?     His  love 

Is  slight  if  't  hangs  upon  my  toes. 

Nac.  My  troth! 

Less  might  catch  more ! 

Dia.  You,  Nacia,  are  not  so  lithe 

As  a  ferret  in  a  hoop.     An  Athens  maid 
Might  labor  so  in  all  her  skirts. 

Nac.  Ho,  ho! 

A  little  puff  blow  such  a  fire?    The  coals 
Were  hot  then! 

Myr.  Nay,  my  girls,  we'll  douse  you  both 

I'  the  river  yonder  if  you  flame  at  naught. 

150 


ASONOFHERMES  151 

How,  Dianessa,  dance  the  maids  of  Athens? 
But  surely  not  in  skirts! 

Dia.  My  father  saw  them, 

And  so  he  said. 

Myr.  Why  dance  at  all  then?     Grace 

That  cadent  girdles  the  invisible  waves 
Of  flute  and  harp  is  born  of  faining  limbs, 
And  hide  them  who  may  see  it? 

The.  No  doubt  they  bob 

Like  bears  in  blankets,  and  believe  they  dance. 

Nac.  Pyrrha   could   say.     But   since   she   came   from 

Athens 
Who  hears  her  speak? 

Art.  She  keeps  from  all  our  games, 

And  scorns  the  wrestle,  though  our  noblest  youths 
Have  sent  her  challenge. 

The.  Ay!     Lets  Dianessa  wear 

The  vestal  bays,  nor  cares  if  Hieron 
Be  there  to  see. 

Myr.  Come,  Pyrrha,  tell  us  how 

The  Athenian  maidens  dance  with  shrouded  feet. 

Pyrr.  They  wear  their  robes  as  Morning  does  the  mist 
That  makes  her  beauty  greater  and  her  dream 
Live  on  in  men. 

Dia.  Ah,  maidens,  here's  a  tale 

For  the  other  ear. 

Pyrr.  The  bare  and  brazen  sun 

That's  up  without  a  cloud,  cheers  to  the  hunt, 
The  fight,  the  bruited  path, — makes  careful  dames 
Send  linen  to  the  ford,  and  say  "Zeus  grant, 
We'll  air  the  beds!" 

Nac.  Ay,  wives  must  know  their  season. 

Pyrr.  But  let  night-swimming  Morn  come  up 
In  foamy  veil,  and  her  priest-hearted  rose 


152  A    SON    OF    HERMES 

Stays  lusty  feet  and  gives  adventure's  hour 
To  the  achieving  soul. 

Art.  What  kin  is  this 

To  th'  matter? 

Pyrr.  Why,  Artante,  when  we  dance 

Half  naked  as  we  do  before  the  youths, 
They  say  of  us  "A  bed-mate  there,  and  strong 
To  bear  and  breed  brave  warriors  for  my  house." 
But  they  in  Athens  who  so  watch  the  dance, 
See  sheatheless  Being  shine  through  form  that  would, 
Not  softened  thus,  first  fill  the  ruder  eye 
And  leave  unseen  the  token  of  a  grace 
Earth  may  not  shadow. 

Dia.  Nay,  you  speak  Athenian ! 

Let's  have  it  in  our  tongue. 

Nac.  What  grace  can  be 

So  badgered  in  a  gown? 

Pyrr.  Ask  flying  doves, 

That  rhythm  the  air  till  it  doth  ache  with  loss 
When  they  have  passed.     So  have  these  maidens  taught 
The  silken  fold  to  be  their  winged  part. 

Myr.  Ask  her  no  more.     Alack,  our  Pyrrha  drank 
Of  charmed  Ilissus, — must  go  back  to  Athens ! 

Nac.  But   come!     Our   dance!     We   yet   are   Spartan 
maids. 

Dia.  [Taking  wreath  from  her  hair]  Our  flowers  are  far 

from  morning.     See,  these  buds 
Are  pale  as  they  had  never  known  the  dew. 
But  I  know  where  some  fleecy  clusters  blow 
And  daintily  edge  the  stream.     Like  tiny  birds, 
Green-necked  and  lily-winged,  they  are  alight 
A  hundred  to  a  stem.     I'll  have  a  wreath 
Of  them. 

Myr.  And  I.     These  sad  things  are  less  bright 
Than  locks  they  should  adorn. 


ASONOFHERMES  153 

Art.  New  garlands,  all! 

Where  grow  these  favors?     Dianessa,  lead! 

[They  go  off,  rear  left.  Pyrrha  waits  a  meditative  mo- 
ment, then  turns  to  follow.  A  bough  brushes  her  cheek. 
She  puts  up  her  hand  and  plucks  a  bunch  of  berries 
from  it] 

Pyrr.  'Tis  like  his  ruby.     Nature  loved  them  both 
With  the  same  kiss, — the  berry  and  the  stone. 

[Fastens  cluster  to  her  bosom] 

"Heaven  should  have  its  sun."     This  sun  will  fade, 
But  that  I  threw  away  had  ne'er  lost  hue 
So  near  my  heart,  giving  and  taking  fire. 

[Something  thrown  from  the  bushes  falls  at  her  feet.  She 
gazes  at  it,  not  taking  it  up] 

Ah!     Biades'   jewel!     Who [Looks  about  guard- 

edly] 
[Biades  comes  from  the  woods.     He  is  dressed  as  a  Helot 

in  a  scant  tunic  of  goat-skin,  and  wears  a  large  cap] 
Pyrr.  Whose  slave  are  you, 

Bold  Helot? 

Bia.  [Kneeling]     Thine!     [Takes  off  cap,  revealing  his 

quantity  of  dark  curls] 
Pyrr.  Are  you  in  love  with  death, 

That  you  have  come  to  Sparta? 

Bia.  Nay,  I  come 

A  banished  man. 

Pyrr.  I've  heard  how  you  were  plucked. 
Bia.  No  feather  left. 

Pyrr.  Life,  sir,  is  yours,  and  you 

Cast  it  away  in  Lacedaemon. 

Bia.  Nay, — 

Pyrr.  You  whose  dark  outrage  made  her  honor  bleed, 
Think  on  her  burning  wound  to  set  the  foot 
Of  impudence  and  live? 


154  ASONOFHERMES 

Bia.  I  know  the  Spartans. 

They  will  exalt  my  courage  above  death. 

Pyrr.  Courage  that  reckons  so  bates  its  own  worth 
Till  a  coward  might  disport  it.     You  will  meet 
Death's  mercy  but  no  other. 

Bia.  No,  the  virtue 

Dearest  in  them  they'll  hold  dear  in  myself. 
But  if  not  so, — blow  out  your  candle,  Fate, 
I'll  go  to  bed. 

Pyrr.  Why  not  have  fled  to  Persia? 
She's  softer  mannered, — has  no  aching  pride 
Your  death  would  poultice. 

Bia.  Pyrrha  lives  in  Sparta. 

Howe'er  I  set  my  feet,  love  turned  them  here. 
Which  way  I  bent  some  tinged  thought  of  thee 
Crept  as  a  secret  sun  to  every  sense 
And  made  the  hidden  threads  of  being  blush 
Like  coral  boughs  when  Aphrodite's  foot 
Is  on  the  wave. 

Pyrr.  Athenian,  what  canst  hope 
From  Stesilaus'  daughter? 

Bia.  I  ask  naught. 

But  had  a  gem  of  hers  that  hourly  cried 
To  clasp  its  mistress,  and  to  bring  it  thus, 
With  Death  a  looker-on,  I  thought  might  make 
The  peasant  service  shine  so  sovranly 
That  even  her  royal  and  offended  eyes 
Might  gently  entertain  it. 

Pyrr.  Deck  the  bark 

Of  yon  shag  ilex  and  'twill  wear  your  trinket 
With  the  same  grace  and  thanks. 

Bia.  Thy  grace  is  hers 

Who  walked  unrobed  from  hands  of  the  high  gods 
Grown  jealous  of  the  beauty  they  had  made. 
Not  this,  nor  any  jewel  may  adorn  it, 


ASONOFHERMES  155 

Though  swartest  pebbles  might  grow  ruby  proud, 
And  rubies  throb  with  breath  to  be  so  worn. 
And  for  thy  thanks,  I  have  not  come  this  way 
To  ask  for  them.     Keep  them  for  one  so  poor 
He  lets  his  heart  for  hire. 

[Puts  locket  slowly  under  his  tunic] 
And  yet  my  ears 
Fed  on  a  sigh  when  I  was  hidden  there. 

Pyrr.  Who  is  so  strong  as  never  to  have  sighed? 
That  secret  moment  was  my  weakest  too. 
I'm  now  a  Spartan,  and  my  father's  name 
Is  Stesilaus.     You  may  know  it,  sir, 
Who  wert  of  Athens,  but  whose  country  now 
Is  so  much  ground  as  you  may  beg  of  foes, 
And  that,  Zeus  help,  they'll  measure  without  grudge. 
You're  not  so  tall  your  grave  would  scant  a  field, 
Or  make  a  garden  less. 

[Sounds  of  approach  across  bridge,  lower  right] 
Bia.  Does  Fate  come  noisy-footed? 

I  thought  she  crept,  and  loved  the  jungle-leap. 

Pyrr.  Hide,  sir!     I'll  be  as  secret  as  these  shrubs, 
And  not  reveal  you  sooner.     With  the  night 
You  may  steal  out  of  Sparta. 

Bia.  I'll  go  out  winged 

With  Spartan  ships,  and  honor  as  a  bride 
Shall  sail  with  me! 

Pyrr.  Are  you  so  mad?     Then  die! 

[Enter  ephors   and   senators,  all   old  men,  followed   by 
warriors,   then  youths,  wives,  maidens,  children,  and 
attendant  slaves.      Biades  draws  his  cap  down  and  lies 
slouching  on  the  grass.     The  ephors  and  senators  take 
seats  which  the  Helots  have  prepared  for  them] 
First  Ephor.  What!     Must  we  wait?     Where  are  these 
merry  slips? 


156  ASONOFHERMES 

First  Senator.  The  woods  are  dancing  yonder.     By  that 

sign 
They  come. 

[Re-enter  Dianessa,  Myrta,  and  companions,  who  dance  be- 
fore the  assembly,  the  figure  symbolizing  the  capture  of 
Persephone.  They  continue  dancing,  the  youths  joining, 
until  every  maid  has  won  a  partner. 
Ste.  [To  Archippe]  Our  Pyrrha  does  not  dance. 

Why's  that? 

Arc.  No  why  at  all.     I'll  rate  her.     Sulky  chuff ! 
Ste.  Ay,  you'll  be  on  her  heels! 
Arc.  The  younger  maids 

Are  chosen.     She'll  be  left.     There's  Hieron 
With  eyes  like  begging  moons  which  way  she  goes, 
But  she  draws  off, — 

Ste.  Well,  well!     She'll  please  herself. 

Arc.  In  Phania,  I'd  have  had  a  daughter  now 

Ste.  What,  madam?     Gabble  here?     Be  done! 
Agis.  [Among  the  young  men]  I  thirst. 

[To  Blades]  Up,  slave!     Fill  me  a  cup.     Come, 

move,  you  drone! 

[Blades  slowly  rises  and  goes  to  spring  under  trees,  rear] 
A  Young  Lord.  What  Helot's  that? 
Another.  Some  dog  o'  the  farms.     A  staff 

On  's  back  might  help  his  legs. 

Another.  I'll  put  mine  to  't. 

[Blades  lazily  returns  with  cup.     In  handing  it  to  Agis 

he  spills  part  of  the  contents] 
Agis.  [Emptying  the  cup  in  Biades'  face] 

By  Dis  and  Rhadamanthus !     Sot!    Whose  man 
Is  this? 

Bia.  My  own,  you  Spartan  whelp! 
[Gives  Agis  a  blow,  so  unexpected  that  it  knocks  him  down. 
His  head  strikes  the  root  of  a  tree  and  he  does  not  rise. 
A  number  of  Spartans  rush  upon  Blades.     Others  bear 
Agis  off,  left] 


ASONOFHERMES  157 

Voices.  The  dog! 

Tread  him  to  earth !     Down !  down ! 

Bia.  [Springing  from  them  and  taking  off  his  cap] 

What,  Greeks?     You'd  kill 
A  brother? 

A  Voice.  Biades! 

Bia.  My  friends 

Voices.  Ha,  ha!    His  friends! 

Lys.  What  friending  was  't  you  gave  us  on  the  day 
You  drove  us  out  of  Athens?     Hoot  and  club 
Then  spoke  how  dear  you  loved  us.     We  had  not 
Brought  off  our  lives  if  your  desire  had  dared 
Blow  full  on  Athens'  heat. 

Gir.  Brought  off  our  lives? 

Where's  Heracordus?     Stoned  at  Athens'  gate, 
And  dead  upon  the  road. 

Bia.  Nay,  brothers 

Gir.  Ha! 

If  you're  a  brother,  weep  beside  his  grave. 
I'll  show  it  you. 

Lys.  And  all  the  graves  where  lie 

The  dead  we  brought  two  bleeding  years  ago 
From  Decalea's  wall,  where  you  gave  entry 
Then  broke  the  truce  with  charge! 

Bia.  But  hear,  my  lords 

Gir.  Come,  wail  beside  them  till  they  wake  and  ask 
What  new  calamity  brews  in  your  tears! 
[Enter  Lenon] 

Len.  Agis  yet  swoons.   That  root  was  edged  with  death. 
We  fear  he's  gone. 

Gir.  For  this  alone,  Athenian, 

You  should  not  live, — though  all  your  else-wrought  deeds 
Were  mercy's  pawn  for  you. 

Bia.  Ye  fathers,  hear! 

If  ye  know  Justice, — and  the  world  has  said 


158  ASONOFHERMES 

Her  lovers  dwell  in  Sparta, — shall  he  cry 

To  scorn-shut  ears,  whose  injuries  taking  voice 

Should  pass  in  thunder  where  your  virtues  sleep? 

Hear    one    whose    wrongs    have   bruised   him    to    your 

coast, 

And  let  it  not  be  said  that  you  from  safe 
Unshaken  rocks  met  suppliant  hands  with  spears! 

Ste.  Ye  noble  elders,  there's  a  sort  of  mercy 
On  which  dishonor  feeds.     As  pasty,  soft 
As  butter  in  the  sun,  it  chokes  the  sluice 
Of  reason, — in  marshy  obliteration  lays 
The  marks  and  bounds  of  justice, — nauseous  spreads 
Till  mind  is  left  no  throne.     Let  it  not  come 
Where  sit  the  guards  of  honor! 

Bia.  I  grant  you  so. 

But  what  I  ask  is  not  thus  natured,  sir! 
Sages  of  Lacedsemon,  there's  a  mercy 
That  veins  the  very  rock  of  Justice'  seat. 
It  is  the  agent  of  divinest  mould 
In  all  the  world.     By  it  the  mind  grows  fair 
With  blossoms  deity  may  gather.     'Tis 
As  precious  to  the  soul  as  south-lipped  winds 
To  the  winter-aching  earth.     Go  bare  of  it, 
Though  ye  know  Virtue  ye  wear  not  her  pearl. 
I  beg  my  life  that  you  in  saving  me 
May  save  the  heavenliest  favor  given  to  men, 
Nor  crush  it  out  of  Sparta,  leaving  her 
The  scarred  and  barren  terror  gods  forsake . 

Second  Ephor.  Shall  hear  his  plea?     He  may  have  argu- 
ment 
Of  worthy  note. 

Second  Senator.  'Tis  not  our  way  to  judge 
The  dumb. 

Third  Ephor.  [Very  old,  creakingly] 
Why,  if  a  lion,  boar,  or  pard, 


ASONOFHERMES  159 

Or  any  beast,  should  pause  as  we  did  burn 
In  chase,  and  beg  us  hear  his  cause,  I  think 
Our  ears  would  ope. 

Ste.  Ay,  and  the  earth  too,  sir, 

Bearing  such  wonder  on  it!  Folly's  self 
Would  be  too  wise  to  listen  to  this  man, 
Yet  ye  would  hear  him! 

Fourth  Ephor.  More  than  would.     We  will. 

Bia.  This  clemency  shows  like  yourselves, — the  gem 
Of  mind's  adornment,  as  ye  are  the  lustre 
Of  Sparta's  matchless  race! 

Ste.  Now  he  is  off. 

Will  gallop  with  us  to  what  ditch  he  choose. 

First  Senator.     Speak,  Biades. 

Bia.  Of  Agis  then,  my  lords, — 

This  newly  raw  offence, — be  my  first  word. 
And  I'll  not  stay  for  garnish.     Truth  is  bare, 
And  bravest  so.     Though  'twas  my  Helot  guise 
Drew  Agis'  insult  on  me,  think  you,  sirs, 
It  fell  upon  a  proud  and  free-born  Greek, 
And  who  is  here  that  could  with  putting  on 
A  slave's  vile  dress  put  on  his  nature  too, 
Drain  off  his  ancient,  high  nobility, 
And  in  one  brutish  instant  lose  the  blood 
That  made  his  fathers  heroes?     Is  there  one? 

First  Ephor.     We  grant  you,  none. 

Bia.  Your  hearts  then  struck  my  blow, 

Therefore  must  pardon  it.     If  Agis'  death 
Falls  from  it,  'tis  but  accident  that  sleeps 
In  every  motion,  and  in  mine  awoke 
Untimely.     Who,  so  shorn  of  wisdom,  thinks 
That  I,  a  suitor  here  for  barest  life, 
Meant  him  a  vital  stroke  that  would  o'ercry 
My  prayers  and  make  a  mock  of  suppliance? 
I'll  mourn  with  you,  my  lords,  but  ask  you  wring 


160  ASONOFHERMES 

The  neck  of  Fate,  and  leave  my  head  where  'tis 
To  praise  the  just  of  Sparta. 

Third  Senator.  So  we  might 

But  for  the  heavier  charges  that  engage 
The  sighs  of  mercy  'gainst  you  ere  they  blow 
This  deed  a  pardon.     What  of  Decalea? 

Bia.  That  was  a  ruse  the  Spartans  taught  me,  sir, 
When  at  Eleusis  they  ensnared  my  troops 
Within  the  gates,  and  naught  passed  out  again 
Save  rivers  of  their  blood.     If  I  must  die 
For  Decalea,  die  you  with  me,  men, 
For  red  Eleusis. 

Fourth  Senator.     This  is  justice  too. 
I  saw  Eleusis.     He  is  clear  on  that. 

Ste.  I  warn  you,  senators !     The  fleetest  wit 
That  pauses  on  his  guile  is  honey-mired 
And  ne'er  gets  farther. 

First  Ephor.  We'll  not  keep  his  road 
An  inch  past  justice,  but  we'll  go  so  far. 

Ste.  So  you  resolve,  but  Hecate  at  his  smile 
Would  plod  beside  him  like  a  market  lass, 
Forgetting  vengeance. 

Bia.  Honored  Stesilaus: 

Ste.  Honored?     Ay,  Biades!     With  gibe  and  jeer 
That  shook  the  walls  of  Athens!     By  my  staff, 
I'll- 

Bia.  Noble  fathers,  hear  me  for  yourselves, 
Who,  loved  of  Pallas,  in  this  council  sit 
Her  earthly  heirs  and  nature's  demigods ! 
This  rage  of  Stesilaus  is  itself 
Sanction  and  seal  for  my  adoption  here, 
A  son  of  Sparta. 

Ste.  Ha!     Now  he  would  drive 

The  mares  of  Diomed ! 

Bia.  My  lords, 


ASONOFHERMES  161 

Ste.  Prove  this? 

Bia.  Why  made  you  Stesilaus  head  and  tongue 
Of  envoy  unto  Athens?     For  you  thought 
His  mind,  most  apt,  fluidic,  politic, 
More  quick  than  danger,  would  take  shape  of  need, 
Repairing  your  defense  fast  as  you  found 
Your  safety  cramped.     If  I  overcame  him  then 
With  wit  that  watched  with  sleepless  spear  at  door 
Of  Athens'  housed  trust,  must  you  not  crown  in  me 
The  quality  held  sovereign  in  him? 

Ste.  You  hear,  you  elders, — must! 

Bia.  Ay,  must, — and  must! 

Or  at  the  fontal  spring  of  justice  break 
Your  cups  and  thirst.     No  alien  dripple  may 
Content  you  then. 

First  Senator.  We  listen,  Biades. 

Bia.  When  swords  of  an  uneven  temper  meet, 
Who  scorns  the  better  proved?     Nay,  you  do  set 
Your  love  upon  it, — in  your  armory 
Give  it  a  burnished  place.     And  I  who  crossed 
With  Stesilaus,  for  my  triumph  ask 
To  be  of  Sparta's  armor. 

Ste.  Our  dead  shall  answer! 

Bia.  They  shall.     For  every  heart  my  steel  made  cold, 
Is  proof  how  well  I  served  my  Athens, — proof 
Of  loyal  heat  with  which  I'll  serve  the  State 
That  makes  me  hers !     A  true-bred  Greek,  outthrust 
And  homeless,  seeks  a  foster-land,  that  he 
May  lift  for  her  his  sword,  nor  wasteful  let 
The  chiefest  virtue  in  him  die  unused 
While  his  lost  name  no  more  climbs  to  the  gods. 

Second  Senator.   Would  you  ally  with  us  'gainst  Attica? 

Bia.  I'm  yours  for  that.     By  th'  mother  of  the  sea, 
Her  tears  shall  wash  your  feet! 

Third  Senator.  What  way  wouldst  take? 


162  ASONOFHERMES 

Bia.  The  way  to  Phernes  and  the  Persian  fleet 
Now  boastful  before  Rhodes.     Grant  me  a  convoy, 
I'll  forge  with  Persia  Lacedsemon's  sword, 
And  cut  the  crest  from  Athens. 

Fourth  Senator.  We  have  failed 

With  Phernes. 

Bia.  You'll  not  fail  again.     He's  sworn 
My  friend. 

First  Senator.  Our  ships  are  few. 

Bia.  But  Corinth  holds 

Her  sea- wings  spread  for  any  need  of  yours. 

Ste.  Hear  me,  ye  warriors !     He  will  lead 
Our  force  afar,  then  stir  up  neighbor  foes 
To  scourge  unarmored  Sparta!     Think  that  one, 
Cradled  in  silk  and  fed  on  nectared  drops 

Bia.  There,  sir,  I'm  bold  to  say  you're  off  the  road 
Of  truth.     My  nurse  was  of  your  people,  brought 
From  sterner  Sparta  for  my  orphan  rearing, 
By  my  good  uncle  Pelagon, — a  man 
Ye  know  your  friend.     From  her  wise  hands  I  took 
Your  doughty-nurturing  bread,  and  broth  black-brewed, 
That  drives  the  shade  of  fear  from  veins  of  men. 

Ste.  I've  bread  now  in  my  wallet.     Let  us  see 
Your  teeth  in  't. 

[Takes  out  a  piece  of  coarse,  stale  bread  and  offers  it  to 
Blades] 

Bia.  Pardon,  sir!     I  do  not  hunger. 

A  Helot  shared  with  me. 

Ste.  'Twill  keep  till  you 

Would  sup.     But  you  must  try  our  broth,  sir.     Pulse 
Is  seething  yonder.     Youths,  bring  here  a  bowl. 
We  have  a  guest  who'd  call  his  childhood  up 
In  good  black  brew.     Hark,  Lenon ! 

[Whispers  to  Lenon,  who  goes  off  left] 


ASONOFHERMES  163 

Third  Ephor.  It  is  truth. 

Amycla  was  your  nurse.     I  know  the  year 
That  she  was  sent  to  Athens. 

Bia.  On  her  lap 

I  learned  a  love  for  Sparta  that  returned 
In  warrior  days  to  blunt  my  assaulting  sword 
And  wound  me  from  your  side.     She  taught  me  too 
The  lyric  wafture  that  dead  hero-lips 
Send  on  undying, — songs  your  young  men  sing, 
And  old  men  flush  to  hear, — and  as  a  youth 
I  longed  to  make  my  civil  Athens  street 
Echo  to  Sparta  with  a  brother's  call. 

Third  Ephor.  But  I  am  moved. 

Fourth  Ephor.  And  I. 

Ste.  Art  grown  so  old 

You'll  feed  on  pap  again?     Come,  Biades, 
A  song  Amycla  taught  you !     One  will  prove 
Your  love  remembers  Sparta. 

Bia.  Sir,  I'm  not 

Your  zany. 

Ste.  But  you'd  make  my  country  one, 
To  antic  for  you. 

[Re-enter  Lenon  with  bowl  of  broth] 

Ste.  Here's  your  portion,  sir. 
Amycla  made  no  better.     Will  you  drink? 

[Gives  bowl  to  Biades,  who  regards  the  black  mixture 
dubiously.  All  are  silent,  watching  him.  He  looks  at 
Pyrrha] 

Bia.  [To  Pyrrha]  Is't  poison? 

Pyrr.  [Stolid]  It  may  be. 

Bia.  [To  Senators]  Your  will  's  in  this? 

First  Senator.  It  is. 

Bia.  If  this  be  pledge  that  binds  me  yours, 
Fellow  of  board  and  field,  I  drink  long  life 


164  ASONOFHERMES 

To  our  compact.     But  if  death  waits  here, — to  you, 
O  comrade  shades,  and  our  good  fellowship ! 

[Drinks.     The  Spartans  applaud] 

Ste.  You  lean  to  him,  and  Sparta  topples  with  you ! 

A  Young  Man.  [Entering]  Agis  is  up!     He  comes! 

And  bears  no  grudge 

For  a  good  Greek  blow.     Says  you  could  give  no  less. 
[Enter  Agis] 

Eia.  High  Zeus,  I  thank  thee!     Agis,  thou  dost  live 
To  take  my  pardon  and  to  give  me  thine! 

[They  take  hands] 

Ste.  So  soft? 

Lys.  Better  than  blows. 

Ste.  Ha!    Like  disease 

He'll  spread  the  woman  till  our  eyes  drop  tears 
Instead  of  fire.     When  Spartan  eagles  moult, 
They'll  go  no  farther  than  Athenian  owls. 

Lys.  He's  valiant. 

Ste.  There's  no  braver  tongue. 

Lys.  And  friend 

To  Phernes. 

Ste.   So  he  says. 

Lys.  Nay,  that's  well  known. 

Ste.    My  captain  comrades,  and  ye  aged  fathers, 
If  ye  had  seen  him  strut,  a  vanity 
As  brainless  as  the  monkey  at  his  heels, 
With  woman  velvets  making  slut  of  wealth 
Trailing  foul  dust, — a  peacock  fan  at  's  cheek 
Where  a  soldier's  beard  should  grow,  and  bangled  ears 
Whose  swinging  jewels  tickled  a  white  neck 
Soft  as  a  harlot's  pillow, — this  at  time 
His  city  laid  such  honor  on  his  head 
As  would  have  kept  a  brave  man  on  his  knees 
For  wisdom  to  uphold  it, — had  ye  looked  on  this, 


A    SON    OF    HERMES  165 

Ye'd  call  the  weakest  maiden  from  her  wheel 
To  lead  our  wars  ere  trust  to  Biades ! 

First  Ephor.  A  picture  this, — shakes  faith. 

Second  Ephor.  We  trust  too  far. 

Ste.  Sirs,  had  ye  seen  what  I  but  paint — 

Bia.  My  lords, 

I'll  wrestle  with  the  stoutest  Spartan  youth 
That  makes  your  wars  most  dreaded,  and  these  limbs, 
Now  shrunk  with  fasting,  wasted  and  forsook 
By  Fortune  that  once  fed  them  as  her  own, 
Will  prove  my  right  to  captain  Sparta's  host! 

Ste.  Our  women  could  undo  you,  girl  of  Athens! 
Meet  his  bold  brag  with  this.     One  of  our  maids 
Shall  throw  him !     Ay !    Then  he'll  betake  his  shame 
To  any  shade  will  hide  it. 

Hie.  Sir,  I  sue 

To  lay  this  boast. 

Agis.  My  prayer  be  first,  my  lords! 

Voices.  A  lot!    A  lot! 

Ste.  Nay,  sons,  a  fall  from  you 

Would  give  him  hope  to  pick  his  honor  up 
And  steal  again  to  favor.     He  will  plead 
That  you,  full-fed,  met  him  in  famished  hour, 
When  Fate  hung  him  with  bruises  leeching  strength, 
And  gave  you  victory.     Let  my  offer  hold. 
A  maiden  to  him,  and  we'll  hear  no  more 
Of  valorous  Biades. 

First  Ephor.  We  are  agreed. 

Second  Ephor.  Who  is  our  strongest  maid? 

Lys.  We've  six  whose  claims 

Push  equal.     All  in  public  game  have  won 
The  bow  of  Artemis. 

First  Ephor.  We'll  choose  from  these. 

Bia.  Olympus,  shower  me  woes!     I  will  not  cringe, 
So  they  be  man's.     But  save  me  from  a  mock 


166  ASONOFHERMES 

That  makes  misfortune  past  seem  sweet  as  drops 
From  Hera's  healing  cup ! 

Dia.  A  mock?    The  gods 

Have  never  honored  you  till  now. 

Myr.  See  these, 

My  bantling?     Arms  that  made  Kalides  wear 
A  three  months'  bruise! 

The.  And  these  have  locked  the  strength 

Of  Lenon  in  defeat! 

Dia.  Ask  Mirador 

If  he  liked  well  the  sandy  bed  I  gave  him. 

Nac.  Bethink  you  now  how  you'll  outcrow  disgrace, 
For  you'll  be  short  of  breath  when  you've  gone  through 
The  brash  I'll  give  you. 

Dia.  Then  he'll  show  his  reefed 

And  wattled  skin,  and  say  that  want  of  bread 
O'ercame  him,  not  our  valor. 

Art.  Look  you,  maids ! 

His  hollow  eyes  do  beg  some  pity  of  us. 
We'll  give  him  yet  a  chance,  and  mate  him  with 
Our  lame  Coraina.     She's  near  well  again. 
Will  drop  her  crutch  to  be  our  champion. 

Bia.  Zeus, 

Behold  me  patient!     Furies,  though  I  lack 
Some  vaunting  flesh,  the  sharpest  ill  that  on 
My  body  ravins  feeds  a  spirit  that 
Might  meet  with  Heracles  and  give  him  need 
Of  both  his  arms ! 

Dia.  Ha!     Better!     Maids,  his  tongue 
Will  fight  yet! 

Ste.  Peace!  The  ephors  choose 

That  Dianessa  bear  this  honor  off. 
She  threw  strong  Mirador,  first  of  the  youths, 
Which  puts  her  o'er  the  rest. 


A    SON    OF    HERMES  167 

First  Ephor.  We've  else  determined 

That  with  the  fall  the  Athenian  forfeits  life. 

Bia.  And  if  I  win,  my  lords?     Since  life  must  pay 
Defeat,  should  victory  not  solicit  me 
With  counterpoised  prize? 

First  Ephor.  We  shall  accept  you 

Leader  and  comrade,  and  give  escort  fair 
To  bear  your  suit  to  Phernes. 

Lys.  More!     The  maid 

Shall  be  your  bride,  and  bind  you  son  and  brother 
To  Sparta's  love. 

Second  Ephor.  You,  Stesilaus,  assent? 

Ste.  Since  without  risk  you  may  pursue  your  folly, 
I'll  not  oppose  you. 

First  Ephor.         Dianessa,  you 
Abide  our  will? 

Dia.  And  welcome  it.     'Twill  work 
Like  Mars  in  me,  and  make  my  arm 
The  gallows  of  his  fame.     The  Athenian  lady! 
I'd  choose  a  husband  among  men. 

Bia.  And  I, 

My  generous,  dear  lords,  would  woo  and  win 
Some  mute  and  humble  maid.     I  would  not  force 
The  noble  Dianessa  bend  her  head 
To  one  unworthied  by  a  hostile  Fate. 

First  Ephor.  Tut,  sir!     If  Fortune's  love  returns  with 

heat 

That  makes  you  conqueror,  by  that  same  sun 
Her  pride  will  melt,  and  you  will  find  her  meek 
As  gosling  in  your  hand. 

Second  Ephor.  'Tis  settled  so. 

Wear  what  you  win. 

Pyrr.  [Rising]  Ye  reverend  men,  and  you, 
My  noble  father,  may  my  suit  reveal 
My  love  to  Sparta  and  your  love  to  me, 


168  ASONOFHERMES 

Which  has  not  spoken  in  this  act  of  yours 
That  overpeers  me  and  gives  up  my  due 
To  Dianessa. 

First  Ephor.  Ha? 

Pyrr.  Though  Mirador 

Was  forced  below  her,  never  in  a  bout 
Has  she  ta'en  honors  from  me,  while  I  oft 
Have  left  her  down. 

Second  Ephor.         Speak'st  truly? 

Pyrr.  Hear  herself 

Avouch  it. 

Dia.  Ay,  you  overmate  me,  but 
The  gap  between  us  will  not  cast  the  match 
To  Biades.     And  I  was  chosen. 

Fourth  Ephor.  Nay, 

You  must  give  place. 

Pyrr.  I've  other  reason,  sir. 

It  is  my  dear,  war-honored  father  lays 
This  match  on  Sparta,  and  my  pride  of  house 
Would  bear  his  counsel  through  the  act  that  sets 
The  sage's  seal  upon  it. 

First  Ephor.  A  daughter,  sir! 

Ste.  Bare  duty  might  so  speak. 

Pyrr.  This  gives  me  warmth 

My  maiden  comrades  lack.  By  every  vein 
My  father  gave  me,  his  time-laurelled  brow 
Shall  never  wear  a  garland  less ! 

Second  Ephor.  Well  sworn? 

Pyrr.  And  for  I  saw 

Third  Ephor.  More  reasons? 

Pyrr.  — the  rude  shame 

The  Athenian  put  upon  the  ambassadors, 
And  mine  own  eyes  bore  him  in  lowest  semblance, 
Demeaned  from  manhood,  his  dishonor  wrapped 
In  purple  cost  that  left  it  yet  more  naked, 


ASONOFHERMES  169 

I  swear  he  shall  not  honored  lead  our  wars! 
If  our  gray  heroes  fail  us,  we  have  dames 
To  choose  from, — need  not  go  to  Athens! 

First  Ephor.  This  speaks !     The  victory's  won  where 

courage  makes 
Such  stout  provision. 

Pyrr.  If  I  fail,  my  lords, 

Then  gods  are  mongers  and  their  favors  sell, 
Denying  honest  prayers. 

Lys.  Come,  Biades. 

Art  ready? 
,   Bid.  Ay,  long  past! 

First  Ephor.  Your  places  then. 

Ste.  Delay  you !     Biades,  with  modesty 
Unlocked  for,  but  most  fit,  you  gave  up  claim 
To  Dianessa, — 

Bia.  Nay,  'twas  but  an  offer 
Whose  bounty  met  refusal. 

Ste.  I'll  accept  it 

In  Pyrrha's  name. 

.Bia.  So  prudent  against  loss? 

This  caution,  sir,  gives  me  a  victor's  heart. 

Ste.  Triumph  is  hers  a  certain  thousand  times, 
And  yours  a  dicer's  once,  slipped  you  between 
Hiccough  and  snore  of  gods  at  shutting  time. 
But  since  that  once  will  have  a  thousandth  chance 
To  trouble  me,  I'll  grant  you  free  of  Pyrrha. 

Bia.  Wait  till  'tis  begged.     Lysander  spoke  with  kind 
And  equal  honor,  which  did  soften  me 
To  leave  his  daughter  his.     And  others  here 
Have  tendered  me  the  gentle  looks  that  breed 
The  answering  benison  till  hearts  of  earth 
Feel  heaven's  element.     But  you,  whose  hate 
Should  hiss  from  crawling  shape,  not  upright  man's, 
Wake  fires  in  me  that  eat  through  godly  patience 


170  ASONOFHERMES 

And  sweep  to  battle.     I'll  endure  no  further. 
Back  with  your  taunts !     And  if  'twill  make  you  sore 
Where  pride  is  daintiest,  I'll  your  daughter  wed 
Because  she  is  your  daughter! 

Ste.  Bark,  you  puppy, 

But  you'll  not  carry  it! 

Bia.  Were  she  featured  foul 

As  snaked  Medusa, — her  brow  a  hanging  night, — 
Her  figure  hooped  as  age  when  chin  and  toes 
Are  neighbors, — and  of  speech  so  scaly,  harsh 
As  Stesilaus, — I,  with  no  more  color 
Or  shade  of  reason  than  that  you  deny  me, 
Would  make  her  bride.     The  ephors  gave  their  word, 
And  what  I  win  I'll  wear! 

First  Ephor.  We'll  see  you  do. 

Content  you,  Stesilaus.     None  will  weep 
To  know  your  bluff  soul  matched.     To  place!    To  place! 

[They  wrestle.     Pyrrha  loses.     Silence,  then  applause  for 
Blades] 

A  Lord.  My  heart  upheld  him,  for  I  know  him  brave. 

Another.  I  saw  his  dripping  sword  on  Theban  plain 
Cut  through  the  knotted  fray  and  make  two  fields 
O'  the  combat. 

Another.  He  can  pray  too,  Delphi  knows! 

Another.  But  when  his  gallant  prayers  their  action  find 
The  gods  themselves  rage  in  them. 

First  Ephor.  [To  Pyrrha]  Daughter,  take 
Fair  thanks  from  us  for  brave  support  of  Sparta, 
And  having  lost,  more  thanks  for  giving  her 
Another  soldier.     Has  defeat  made  soft 
Your  heart  for  swift  espousal? 

Bia.  Let  me  woo 

In  slower  way,  good  father.     Tho'  my  boast 
Rose  high  'gainst  Stesilaus'  scorn,  I'm  not 
Of  heart  so  rash  that  I  would  lose  her  love 


ASONOFHERMES  171 

By  taking  it.     With  Sparta's  aid  now  mine, 
I'll  ask  her  choose  a  noble  guard  and  sail 
With  me,  that  I,  by  time  and  fortune  graced, 
May  win  a  double  suit,  herself  and  Persia. 

First  Ephor.   We'll  think  of  it.     Our  plans  are  still 

un  threshed. 
Come  with  us,  Biades. 

[Ephors,  with  senators  and  Biades,  lead  the  way  over 
bridge.     All  follow  except  Stesilaus  and  Pyrrha] 

Ste.  How  was  't  he  won? 

And  he  was  livid  famine !     Scurf ed  with  weeks 
Of  beggary!     While  you — such  arms  had  saved 
Antiope  from  Theseus ! 

[Pyrrha  droops  silent] 

Up,  my  daughter! 

We'll  make  this  fall  our  hope.     You  shall  take  sail 
With  Biades— 

Pyrr.  Gods  hear  me,  no! 

Ste.  You  will. 

I  know  his  aim.     He  will  betray  our  force 
To  Athens, — pardon's  price.     Athenian  ease 
Is  in  his  marrow  like  a  siren  sleep, 
And  all  this  hardy  show  is  but  to  buy 
His  languors  back.     You'll  watch  within  his  ship, 
With  Hieron  a  second  secret  eye, 
And  when  his  treachery  ripens,  take  command 
And  bring  him  bound  to  Sparta. 

Pyrr.  Be  so  near? 

Sail  in  his  ship? 

Ste.  Be  near  him  as  a  wife. 

Watch  close.     Lie  in  his  thoughts,  though  not  his  bed. 
And  if  he  presses  to  the  shrine  of  favor, 
Here  is  my  dagger.     This  will  be  your  guard. 
Let  him  meet  death  upon  it, — and  that  death 
Be  honor's  sanctuary.     Come!     My  brow 


172  ASONOFHERMES 

Must  smooth  submissive  to  the  senators. 
Clear  too  your  face  with  summer  policy. 
Thus  openly  we'll  hide.     The  State's  turned  fool, 
And  naught  between  her  and  perdition  save 
An  old  man  and  a  girl !     [Exit] 

Pyrr.  [Gazing  at  dagger]  If  this  cold  blade 
Were  seeking  traitors  't  might  look  in  my  heart. 

[Curtain] 


ACT  IV 

SCENE:  On  board  a  galley  of  Athens.  An  open  door  left 
of  centre,  rear,  shows  a  moonlit  sea.  Cressets  burning 
within.  Pyrrha  discovered,  seated  and  fingering  a  dag- 
ger. A  diminishing  sound  of  dipping  oars  and  rowers 
singing. 

God  of  the  bold  who  ride 

With  song  o'er  their  dead 
Whose  unsown  graves  wait  wide, 

The  singers'  bed, — 
Poseidon,  befriend,  befriend, 
And  the  good  wind  send! 

The  sirens  are  on  their  rocks; 

Like  a  pierced  moon 
Weeping  her  gold,  their  locks 

To  the  waters  run. 
Poseidon,  befriend,  befriend, 
And  the  good  wind  send ! 

Fleet  are  the  foam-toothed  hounds 

That  hunt  unfed, 
With  hunger  that  aches  like  wounds, 

And  ships  their  bread. 
Poseidon,  befriend,  befriend, 
And  the  good  wind  send ! 

[Enter  Lysander] 

Pyrr.  Lysander!     You?     Is  't  battle? 
Lys.  At  dawn  we  move 

Upon  the  Athenian  ships. 

173 


174  ASONOFHERMES 

Pyrr.  They've  come  from  harbor? 

Lys.  Nay,  lurking  still,  fear-cabled  to  the  land, 
Like  weanlings  round  a  skirt. 

Pyrr.  At  last  a  battle! 

And  Biades  is  true.     The  watch  is  done. 
I'm  sick  of  spying,  hanging  on  him  like 
A  doubt  with  teeth.     He  leaves  this  galley  then? 

Lys.  Commands  from  the  Ino,  now  so  brave  repaired 
She  sits  her  place  as  though  the  sea  and  air 
Debated  who  should  claim  her,  and  she  no  more 
Adorns  both  elements  than  herself  's  adorned 
By  our  young  admiral. 

Pyrr.  He  is  gone?     So  soon? 

Lys.  Went,  but  is  here  again,  and  here  must  stay 
These  next  three  hours  or  more. 

Pyrr.  Why  so,  Lysander? 

Lys.  We  sacrifice  aboard  Thrasyllus'  ship, 
Where  now  the  captains  gather,  and  the  hand 
Of  one  who  leads  the  foe  to  his  fathers'  hearth 
Would  cloud  the  omen.     He  must  keep  apart. 

Pyrr.  You've  told  him  that? 

Lys.  We  have  not  dared. 

Pyrr.  Not  dared? 

Way,  Spartan  lions,  for  the  Athenian  puppy! 

Lys.  He's  tender  with  his  honor. 

Pyrr.  His  honor! 

Lys.  Soft  I 

We  shunt  all  danger  if  you  mew  him  here 
Unwitting  of  our  hand. 

Pyrr.  I  do  not  wear. 

Athene's  segis  on  my  jerkin,  friend. 

Lys.  You  can  divinely  drug  his  vanity 
Without  immortal  aid.     Attach  him  by  't, 
For  free  he'll  chafe.     Drift  with  him  in  such  wise 
He'll  not  suspect  our  rudder. 


ASONOFHERMES  175 

Pyrr.  Ay,  more  lies. 

Lys.  Truth  is  no  absolute  virtue.     'Tis  a  vice 
If  't  takes  a  screw  from  safety. 

Pyrr.  There  is  law 

Higher  than  Sparta  utters.     If  not  so, 
What  mean  our  altars,  and  a  kneeling  world? 

Lys.  Hmm!     I  delay  the  sacrifice.     Dost  know 
I  take  my  Dianessa?     A  virgin's  hand 
Must  weave  the  victim's  garland. 

Pyrr.  Ah,  the  moon 

Of  Artemis !     A  virgin's  hand.     They  ask 
Not  mine? 

Lys.         You  are  a  bride  in  Sparta's  eyes. 
Would  Truth  might  speak  it  too !     For  Biades 
Has  won  all  love  but  yours. 

Pyrr.  I'll  wed  no  traitor. 

Lys.  What?     He  is  false? 

Pyrr.  Ay,  false  to  Athens. 

Lys.  Phut! 

[Enter  Hieron] 

Hie.  How  like  you  this,  sir?     Biades  has  stripped 
The  galley  of  its  rowers, — sent  them  all 
To  his  gilded  /no, — every  boat  in  charter 
To  bear  his  trappings, — parchments,  maps,  and  gifts 
From  Phernes, — curtains,  instruments — 

Lys.  The  stuff 

Goes  with  the  admiral,  and  what  other  way 
Than  by  the  boats?     Say  naught  of  't. 

Hie.  This  a  time 

To  spend  a  feathering! 

Lys.  Nay 

Hie.  And  why  send  all? 

A  half — a  third — had  answered.     There's  not  left 
An  oarsman  on  the  galley  save  the  men 
Who  brought  you  from  the  Thetis. 


176  ASONOFHERMES 

Lys.  You've  the  guard, — 

Yourself  its  head.     Give  Biades  his  way 
When  prudence  pays  no  cost.     We've  hedged  and  hemmed 
His  wrestling  will  until  his  pride  is  brashed 
To  the  rebel  quick 

Hie.  Sst!     He  is  here. 

[Biades  stands  in  door} 

Bia.  Ly  sander, 

They  hail  you  from  Thrasyllus'  ship.     You  stay 
The  rites. 

Lys.  [Troubled]  But  is  it  time— 

Bia.  Full  time. 

Lys.  My  boat 

Bia.  Is  waiting. 

Lys.  I — you,  sir 

Bia.  You'll  bear  my  grace 

To  our  priestly  captains? 

Lys.  You  stay  here? 

Bia.  I  shall, 

If  you'll  not  press  me  other.     As  you  pray 
For  clearer  omen  and  a  morning  battle, 
Let  only  those  whose  land  holds  them  untainted 
Stand  in  the  holy  ring. 

Lys.  Above  our  prayers 

This  act  will  speak  to  Heaven  in  Sparta's  name 
And  make  her  gods  your  own. 

Bia.  If  that  might  be, 

Lysander!     To  have  no  altars  is  a  fate 
Man  can  not  bear  for  long. 

Hie.  The  rowers,  sir! 

How  soon  do  they  return? 

Bia.  They've  leave  to  see 

The  midnight  toward  with  their  fellow  crew 
On  the  I  no. 


ASONOFHERMES  177 

Hie.        Midnight! 

Bia.  Loyal  beggars,  all. 

They're  sad  to  lose  their  captain,  and  I  pay 
Their  grieving  flattery  with  this  stinted  lease 
From  duty  here.     They'll  use  't  in  prayerful  rite— 

Hie.  Not  prayer !     The  casks  will  drip  too  free  for  that. 
If  any  prayers  come  from  the  heart  to  throat, 
They'll  downward  wash  again,  not  out  and  fly. 
Say'st  midnight,  sir? 

Bia.  I  do.     They  will  return 

In  time  to  set  the  galley  from  the  cast 
Of  morning  danger. 

Hie.  Move  again?     The  ship 

Is  now  to  rearward,  by  some  rods. 

Bia.  She  is. 

And  shall  go  farther.     Here's  no  fighting  deck. 

Hie.  Ay,  these  soft  cabins,  Corinth-modelled  as 
A  prince,  would  make  a  floating  holiday, 
Put  soldiers  from  their  place. 

Bia.  The  ship  must  lie 

Full  east,  on  th'  safest  wave.     We've  treasure  'neath 
These  sails  that  make  their  weathered  woof  more  dear 
Than  threaded  gold  of  Hera's  mantle. 

Hie.  Ah, 

You  mean  the  women. 

Bia.  No, — a  woman.     Come, 

Lysander. 

Lys.      Sir,  what  time  wilt  take  your  place 
Aboard  the  Ino? 

Bia.  Give  me  till  the  midnight. 

I'll  from  that  moment  be  your  admiral. 
But  for  these  gentle  hours  that  lie  between, 
I  would  as  merest  man  use  their  light  wings 
To  chase  a  hope  through  heaven. 


178  ASONOFHERMES 

Lys.  [With  a  glance  at  Pyrrha]  And  bring  it  down, 
My  lord! 

[Exeunt  Lysander,  Blades,  and  Hieron] 

Pyrr.  Now,  Impudence,  no  more's  to  do! 
Go  up  and  take  thy  crown.     Before  my  eyes 
He  teaches  them  he  wooes  me,  and  my  pride 
Mutely  abets  his  guile.     [Holds  up  the  dagger] 

My  fine  defence, 

Thou'rt  warder  to  a  bosom  unbesieged. 
In  Biades'  contempt  I  have  a  guard 
That  saves  thine  office.     Go,  you  glittering  mock! 

[In  a  passion  of  resolution  she  throws  the  dagger  through 

the  door] 

That's  done.     No  matter.     He  does  not  look  at  me, 
Or  looks  as  though  his  eyes  begged  pardon  of  him, 
For  their  chance  stop  on  nothing. 

[Re-enter  Biades,  the  dagger  in  his  hand] 

Bia.  Here's  a  toy 

Caught  from  the  rigging.     Yours,  I  think. 

[Offers  it  to  her.     She  does  not  take  it] 
It  must  be  dear.     I've  seen  you  fondle  it. 
Is  it  not  yours? 

Pyrr.  It  was. 

Bia.  Then  is.    And  worth 

Your  keeping.     A  good  blade,  though  Spartan  plain. 

Pyrr.  I'm  weary  of  it.     In  Athens  I  shall  find 
Another  pattern. 

Bia.  [Testing  blade]  Fine  and  strong.     Will  wear 
A  hundred  years,  then  make  a  door  for  death. 

[Turns  it  against  his  heart.     She  starts] 
You'll  take  it,  Pyrrha.     To  throw  it  to  the  sea 
Were  waste  for  an  Athenian. 

Pyrr.  Keep  it  then. 

Bia.  You  give  this  blade  to  me? 


ASONOFHERMES  179 

Pyrr.  I  care  not.     Keep 

What  you  have  praised. 

Bia.  [Pressing  it  against  his  cheek] 

A  gentle  weapon, — but 
I've  somewhat  'gainst  it. 

[Goes  to  door  and  throws  it  far  into  the  sea] 
Kiss  the  waves,  my  friend ! 

[Returns  to  Pyrrha  and  sits  by  her] 

Bia.  [Softly]  I  leave  the  ship  to-night. 

Pyrr.  [Uneasy]  And  time  you  led 

The  fleet  to  battle.     You've  excused  delay 
Till  palling  breath  became  the  shroud  of  action, 
And  yet  refused  it  funeral. 

Bia.  I  know 

How  you  have  doubted.     O,  this  soul  of  Sparta, 
That  can  not  trust !     It  peeps  from  every  eye, 
Deepest  where  kindest.     Tags  each  friendly  word 
With  its  unspoken  dread, — and  comradeship,    . 
That  strives  to  wrap  it  in  a  gala  cloak, 
Strains  vainly  round  the  huge,  dun  doubt,  agape 
In  dreary  revelation. 

Pyrr.  You  are  free 

To  leave  us. 

Bia.          Free?     Five  Spartan  nobles  watch 
Beside  me,  move  with  every  step,  for  so 
The  admiral  must  be  honored !    Hieron 
Foregoes  his  place  at  sacrifice  to  serve 
My  dignity.     Not  for  his  gods  he'll  put 
A  furlong  'tween  us. 

Pyrr.  He's  the  ship's  good  eye. 

And  all  the  men  except  the  lords  of  guard 
Are,  by  your  grace,  a-neighboring.     Would  you  leave 
The  galley  without  watch? 

Bia.  No,  Pyrrha,  sweet. 

But  I  would  woo  you  with  no  ear  at  the  door. 


180  ASONOFHERMES 

Pyrr.  [Rising]  My  lord! 

Bia.  [Indifferent]  Nay,  then.     I  can't  oppose  the  sex 
Of  Aphrodite.     My  one  frailty. 

Pyrr.  One! 

Bia.  What?     I  have  more? 

Pyrr.  The  moments  of  your  life 

Are  not  so  many! 

Bia.  Gods  be  thanked,  I'm  young! 

How  may  I  change  to  please  a  Spartan  scold? 

Pyrr.  Be  anything  you're  not. 

Bia.  You  have  not  heard 

I  am  the  admiral  of  the  Spartan  fleet, 
With  Persian  Phernes  yonder  at  my  beck, 
Broad- winged  with  all  Phoenicia?     You  know  not 
I  am  a  general? 

Pyrr.  Oh,  to  be  that  name, 

Not  make  't  thy  bauble !     What  dost  know 
Of  secret,  sleepless  hours,  and  delving  thought 
That  nations  may  lie  safe?     By  what  grave  right 
Wear  you  the  title?     What  deep  sacrifice? 

Bia.  Leave  sacrifice  to  fools  and  women!     Ay, 
More  lies  are  huddled  in  that  saintly  word 
Than  ever  smirked  outside  it.     The  strong  soul 
Low  bowing  there,  lies  to  his  god, — the  weak 
Lies  to  the  world  behind  a  holy  shield 
That  turns  the  spear  of  justice.     Pallas,  hear! 
A  general  makes  himself  a  master,  lest 
The  State  make  him  a  servant. 

Pyrr.  True  in  Athens! 

But  you've  another  name.     I've  heard  you  called 
The  young  philosopher.     Play  you  at  that. 
'Twill  tire  naught  but  the  tongue.     Yours  will  go  far. 

Bia.  Nay,  spare  me  toil  of  spirit  searching  through 
Earth,  sea,  and  sky  for  phrases  magical 


ASONOFHERMES  181 

To  wrap  creation  in,  as  'twere  a  babe 

Each  man  might  call  his  own  could  he  but  find 

Some  good-wife  fancy  to  deliver  it. 

No  other  hope? 

Pyrr.  They  name  you  poet,  too. 

Build  round  your  spirit  an  Elysian  cheat 
And  buzz  it  through  upon  a  golden  wing. 
Is  that  not  idle  enough? 

Bia.  You  touch  me  now 

With  flattery's  gold  point.     I  wince  and  love 
The  pain.     Yet  I'd  not  be  a  frolic  breath 
At  play  with  Spring  and  florets  in  the  dew, 
Or  move  in  rhymed  courtesies  before 
The  smile  or  frown  of  gods.     Trick  my  dear  soul 
In  May-day  rags  to  catch  a  languid  eye. 
Babble  of  moods  and  minds,  how  some  think  this, 
Some  that,  and  some  have  never  thought.     Drone  how 
On  such  a  day  one  struck  another  down, 
Or  led  a  fleet,  or  laid  a  city  wall. 

Pyrr.  What  would  you  sing  then,  pray? 

Bia.  I  would  not  sing. 

Was  there  not  poetry  before  men  spake? 
I'd  go  behind  the  broidered  veil  we've  wrought 
Before  the  face  of  one  that  we  loved  much 
And  then  forgot  for  beauty  of  the  shroud.  * 
The  old  lere's  lost,  the  new  but  irks  our  dream. 
We  listen  to  ourselves,  while  round  us  ever 
Are  worlds  that  vainly  pluck  us  to  their  doors, 
Giving  us  sign  in  lightning,  heat,  and  wave, 
In  flake  of  snow,  flint-spark,  and  crystal  rock, 
In  stones  that  make  the  iron  creep,  and  color, 
Fair  flag  and  challenge  to  our  shuttered  minds. 

Pyrr.  [Moving  nearer]  Oh! 

Bia.  [Seeming  to  forget  her] 

Round  our  lives  is  life  whose  destiny 
Is  that  frontier  no  word  of  ours  has  crossed, 


182  ASONOFHERMES 

But  man  to  come  shall  plant  and  harvest  there, 
Where  his  soul  sets  the  plough. 

Pyrr.  [Softly]  You  know  that  too? 

Bia.  That  life  shall  warm  his  barest  common  way 
Of  in  and  out.     In  field  and  market-place, 
He'll  lay  his  cheek  'gainst  its  unbodied  love 
And  flush  translations  of  its  silent  touch. 
Then  will  be  poets !     Thought  that  now  must  fail 
In  bird-wing  flight,  shall  from  a  violet's  eye 
O'erlook  the  sun.     Till  then  I  will  not  sing. 

Pyrr.  Not  fight,  philosophize,  or  sing! 
What's  left  for  an  Athenian? 

Bia.  [Remembering  her]      Love,  fair  Pyrrha! 
You  know  the  tale  how  Chaos  once  uncurled 
Her  laboring  bulk  from  round  a  fire-leafed  rose 
And  sent  its  petals  drifting  down  to  fields 
Where  mortals  foot  with  chance?     Whoso  they  touch 
Are  lovers  always,  and  one  came  to  me. 

Pyrr.  Now  here's  ambition!    And  you  live  for  that? 

Bia.  Ay  there's  the  charm  contents  me  with  dull  earth, 
And  puts  a  rainbow  in  my  listless  hand. 
The  way  is  pleasant  if  the  road  be  love's, 
And  I'd  not  shorten  it  by  one  maid's  eye. 
To  be  a  lover, — that's  the  graceful  thing. 
Then  one  moves  velvetly,  forgets  no  curve, 
And  lives  his  picture,  line  and  color  true. 

Pyrr.  That  role's  struck  from  your  play,  you'll  find, 

my  lord. 

Maidens  will  smile,  but  scorn  will  set  the  lip, 
And  women's  eyes  be  warm,  but  hate  their  fire 
For  you,  the  traitor. 

Bia.  Traitor? 

Pyrr.  [In  the  door]  See  the  gleam 
On  Athens,  yours  no  more.     The  softest  breast 
Within  her  walls  is  steel  when  you  are  named. 


ASONOFHERMES  183 

Bia.  But  there  are  maids  in  Sparta. 

Pyrr.  Not  for  you, 

A  traitor  to  the  soil  that  gave  you  life. 

Bia.  That  soil  first  cast  me  off. 

Pyrr.  A  mother  strikes 

Her  child,  but  should  the  child  return  the  blow 
Gods  would  droop  eyes  and  blush. 

Bia.  But  were  I  true 

To  my  own  land,  I  should  be  false  to  yours. 

Pyrr.  A  virtue  that.     A  maid  might  love  you  then. 

Bia.  A  Spartan  maid? 

Pyrr.  A  Spartan  maid.     But  now 

We  hold  you  as  no  more  than  loathed  bait 
To  capture  Athens.     Used  as  a  stuck  fly 
To  hook  a  chub ! 

[Enter  Hieron] 

Bia.     What  saucy  fury  sports 
With  Hieron?     His  even  smile  's  unfixed 
As  the  middle  of  two  minds. 

Hie.  Sir,  Phernes  sends 

Six  maidens  from  his  ship  to  dance  before  you. 
The  noble  Persian  chooses  time  most  fit 
For  wantoning, — the  hour  of  sacrifice 
And  battle  prayer. 

Bia.  You're  justly  kindled.    What 
Though  it  be  royal  custom  in  his  East, — 
A  grace  from  king  to  king, — to  garnish  danger 
With  f rillet  of  relief  that  makes  death  seem 
The  last-dropped  toy,  we'll  dare  to  let  him  know 
That  we  are  Greeks,  and  walk  the  edge  of  graves 
With  eyes  upon  the  gods.     Go,  pack  them  off! 

Hie.  Why, — so  I  meant.    The  act  struck  rudely  on 
Our  ritual  hour.     But  if  his  Eastern  mind 
Paints  it  a  courtesy 

Bia.  A  sovereign  honor. 


184  ASONOFHERMES 

Hie.  He  is  of  haughty  blood, — burns  at  rebuff 

Bia.  Ay,  like  a  hornet  blind.     A  thousand  times 
I've  eased  his  fret  and  run  his  humor's  mould 
Like  summer  wax,  lest  he  should  break  from  Sparta 
That  stood  in  rigid  ruin.     Now  I  leave  it! 
His  anger  can  be  put  to  gentlest  sleep, 
But  'tis  no  babe  when  stirred.     Choose  as  you  will. 

Hie.  The  honor  is  to  you.     Be  yours  the  answer. 

Bia.  I'm  worn  with  him.     Three  hours  to-day  I  played 
His  vanity,  while  chance  touched  either  side, 
Waiting  the  word  that  should  cut  through  suspense 
And  seal  him  ours  for  battle. 

Hie.  To  huff  his  pride 

'Tween  this  and  dawn  would  poorly  soothe  our  own 
At  an  uncertain  cost.     But  let  him  leer 
I'  the  oracles'  face.  .  .  . 

Bia.  He  has  not  sent  Alissa? 

Hie.  There's  one  so  calls  herself.     Spoke  out  the  name 
As  we  should  fall  before  it. 

Bia.  She's  most  free 

In  Phernes'  heart.     Knows  all  the  honey -ways 
To  his  secret  soul,  and  what  is  said  to  her 
He'll  hear  ere  morn.     As  you  love  victory, 
I  hope  you  met  her  gently. 

Hie.  If  surprise 

Made  greeting  harsh,  I  will  undo  that  harm 
With  softer  welcome.     And  beseech  you,  sir, 
To  suffer  this  mistimed  civility 
For  Sparta's  sake. 

Bia.  I  will,  dear  Hieron, 

Since  'tis  your  suit. 

Hie.  Thanks,  thanks,  my  lord. 

Bia.  Let  them  come  in.     I'll  see  their  briefest  dance, 
And  give  Alissa  one  commending  word, 


ASONOFHERMES  185 

Which  straight  as  faithful  bee  she'll  hive 
In  Phernes'  ear. 

[Exit  Hieron] 

What  think  you  of  it,  Pyrrha? 
You  do  approve  me? 

Pyrr.  Approve  your  wits,  my  friend. 
Had  they  been  Spartan  trained,  you'd  bring  them  off, 
Untarnished  still,  from  argument  with  Zeus. 

Bia.  When  Pallas  praises,  bow. 

Pyrr.  Poor  Hieron 

Is  now  the  sweating  agent  of  your  will 
To  see  these  callets  dance. 

Bia.  Unpitiful! 

I'd  touch  my  lips  to  Lethe,  and  you'd  snatch 
The  oblivious  drop  from  me!     You  know  how  dear 
The  bond  that  shall  be  cut  with  sword  of  dawn, — 
So  close  no  seer  may  tell  which  shall  bleed  most, 
Athens  or  her  lost  son. 

Pyrr.  Art  low  at  last? 

Bia.  Dun,  dun,  my  Pyrrha,  as  a  Barbary  pigeon! 
So  low  not  all  my  pride  can  vaunt  me  up. 
Then  let  me  have  my  wine, — the  draught  of  eyes, 
Of  music  and  of  smiles,  till  I  be  drunk 
And  sleep. 

[Enter  six  Athenian  youths,  led  by  Clearchus,  all  dis- 
guised as  Persian  dancers.  As  they  dance  before  Bl- 
ades his  pleasure  quickens  to  abandonment] 

Bia.  Ah,  Pyrrha,  you've  denied  my  heart 
All  noble  love,  but  here  's  a  pleasure  left. 
Soft  eyes  and  gentle  bosoms  may  be  mine 
Where  scorn  is  taught  to  sleep  and  never  sting. 
That  is  Alissa.     We  must  honor  her. 

[He  signals  Clearchus,  and  the  others  pass  out,  leaving 
him  to  dance  alone.  As  he  ventures  more  flirtatiously 
about  Biades,  Pyrr  ha9 8  disgust  increases  and  she  re- 


186  ASONOFHERMES 

treats.  Clearchus,  dancing  mockingly,  follows  her  to 
door,  and  when  she  has  passed  through  audaciously 
closes  it] 

Bia.  Now!     Quick!     In  name  of  Zeus!    The  senators 
Received  my  message? 

Clea.  [Darting  to  Blades]  Ay,  the  answer's  here! 

[Gives  him  a  parchment] 

Full  pardon !     Athens  will  lay  down  her  walls 
To  make  your  entry  proud !  Her  gates  are  small, 
For  honor  she  intends  you ! 

Bia.  [Glances  at  parchment  and  sobs] 
My  Athens!     Mine!    Though  she  should  take  my  life, 
And  my  bruised  body  fling  unburied  forth, 
Yet  would  my  shade  drop  kisses  on  her  soil 
And  weep  to  leave  it  for  Elysium!     [With  sudden  control] 
What  of  my  plan? 

Clea.  Adopted,  in  each  item. 

Soon  as  the  dropping  moon  is  in  the  sea, 
The  Athenian  rowers,  coming  as  your  own, 
Will  board  this  galley  and  bear  her  a  bird 
To  th'  harbor  nest. 

Bia.  They've  force  to  meet  the  guards? 

Clea.  Thrice  measured,  sir.     The  Theia 

Bia.  My  own  ship! 

Clea.  Your  own — will  meet  you,  every  sailor  true 
As  when  he  wept  your  banishment.     And  Phaon, 
Critias,  Pelagon,  Antiganor, 
With  twenty  senators  and  men  of  name, 
Wait  on  her  deck  in  welcome. 

Bia.  Back,  ye  tears! 

The  rowers  know  my  signal? 

Clea.  Yes,  my  lord. 

Three  cressets  on  the  left, — set  here  in  this 
Embrazure.     They  will  watch,  near  as  they  dare, 


ASONOFHERMES  187 

And  instantly  as  darts  your  triple  gleam 
Their  oars  will  sweep  you  answer. 

[A  commotion  urithout] 

Bia.  Hist!     What's  wrong? 

[Enter  Hieron  and  Pyrrha.     Hieron  goes  to  Clearchus  and 
tears  off  his  veil  and  head-dress] 

Clea.  O,  pardon!     I'll  confess! 

Hie.  'Tis  you,  my  lord, 

I  now  unmask,  not  this  bought  wretch. 

Bia.  What,  sir? 

Hie.  Your  Persian  dancers  are  Athenian  boys, 
All  slim  as  lizards.     We  o'er-eyed  their  steps, 
And  on  suspicion  gave  them  such  a  pinch 
The  truth  flew  out. 

Bia.  Their  guilt  does  not  prove  mine. 

Is  it  my  crime  that  Athens  touched  me  near 
With  bribe  of  pardon? 

Pyrr.     Hear  the  boy.     You  are 
Clearchus?    And  of  Athens? 

Clea.  I  am. 

Pyrr.  You  brought 

His  pardon.     Did  he  welcome  it? 

Clea.  He  did. 

Bia.  He  lies !    The  coward  lies ! 

Clea.  He  did  agree 

That  Phernes  should  draw  off  his  fleet  and  join 
With  Athens. 

Bia.  Oh!     Where  are  the  Olympian  thunders 
That  they  now  let  you  live? 

Hie.  Draw  off  his  fleet 

To-night? 

Clea.    Ere  dawn. 

Bia.  That  such  an  atom — such 

A  trifle  of  a  body  could  enclose 
So  great  a  lie! 


188  ASONOFHERMES 

Clea.  The  Persian  is  at  watch, 

Waiting  the  signal — 

Bia.  Toad! 

Clea.  If  pardon  came, 

Two  cressets  set 

Bia.  I'll  shred  him! 

Clea.  At  the  left 

Just  here,  my  lord,  would  start  the  Persian  ships 
For  Athens. 

Bia.          Oh! 

Clea.  But  if  three  cressets  burnt, 

Then  he  would  hold  to  Sparta. 

Hie.  Three? 

Clea.  Three,  sir. 

Look  in  his  bosom  if  you'd  read  the  proof. 
His  pardon's  there. 

Bia.     By  the  altars  I  have  lost, 
By  Sparta's  yet  unwon,  I  swear  he  lies! 

[Pyrrha  snatches  the  parchment  from  his  bosom] 

Bia.  You  bat — you  mole — you  cur-born  flea 

Clea.  [To  Hieron]  O,  sir, 

Your  mercy !     Save  me  from  him ! 

Hie.  Wait  without. 

Pyrr.  Full  pardon !     Bring  the  irons !     We  are  sold ! 
Irons  for  Biades! 

Bia.  [Accepting  defeat]  Ay,  let  me  wear 
My  honor's  livery.     Every  foe-locked  gyve 
Will  be  my  country's  kiss,  and  make  my  blood 
Flow  proud  beneath  it.     Irons !     Load  me  down, 
Now  that  you  know  me  man,  and  not  the  thrall 
Of  vilest  fear  that  buys  suspected  breath 
With  a  mother-city's  doom. 

Pyrr.  I'll  grant  you,  sir, 

That  by  this  act  you  do  no  longer  lie 
In  the  unconsidered  trash  of  estimation, 


ASONOFHERMES  189 

But  have  crept  up  in  my  surprised  mind 

To  where  I  keep  my  jewels  of  regard. 

That  is  soon  said, — but  for  the  rest,  you  die. 

And  more  than  die,  for  we  shall  hurl  your  name 

A  palsy  over  Athens. 

Bia.  You'll  not  fight 

Athens  and  Persia! 

Pyrr.  Persia  is  not  lost. 

Your  signal  is  unlit. 

Hie.  But  we'll  light  ours! 

Three  cressets 

Pyrr.  [Stopping  him]  Wait !     The  event's  too  great 
To  helve  with  such  slight  word.     That  snivelling  blab 
May  've  lied,  or  crossed  the  signals,  for  the  young 
Are  easiest  dyed  in  craft,  and  take  its  hue 
As  natively  as  innocence  doth  wear 
Its  smile  in  sleep. 

Hie.  What  then? 

Pyrr.  You'll  go  to  Phernes. 

Hie.  There  are  no  boats. 

Pyrr.  Tut,  take  the  boats  that  brought 

Those  purfled  cymlings  here.     Their  rowers  too. 
Ah,  Biades,  you'll  serve  us  still.     And  thought 
To  trap  all  Sparta  with  this  tip-toe  bait! 
We  have  a  saying,  "Wit  against  the  world, — " 
And  there's  another  too,    "The  last  lie  wins." 
Hast  heard  it,  Biades?     We'll  bear  your  wrord 
To  Phernes  that  with  dawn  you  move  with  him 
Upon  the  Athenian  sails. 

Bia.  He'll  hear  no  word 

From  Spartan  mouth.     So  'twas  agreed  between  us, 
To  annul  such  move  as  this  if  chance  should  strip 
My  bent  of  cover.     I  alone  may  reach 
His  ear  with  Sparta's  prayer. 


190  ASONOFHERMES 

Pyrr.  We'll  cast  for  proof 

Of  that.     If  true,  we  shall  remember,  sir, 
That  Sparta  has  won  cities  with  no  aid 
From  Persia. 

Bia.  You'll  not  go  alone  to  meet 
The  strength  of  Athens? 

Pyrr.  Your  far-winged  name 

And  sea-born  battle-skill  shall  go  with  us. 
Your  single  arm  's  no  loss,  but  in  your  fame, 
Yet  ours  to  use,  the  Spartan  strength 
Is  doubled.     Ha!     They  call  us  landmen, — say 
We  must  have  feet  on  ground  ere  we  can  fight. 
But  you  they  fear,  bred  to  the  wave,  and  first 
Of  their  commanders. 

Bia.  Let  me  die,  but  leave 

My  name  unmurdered. 

Pyrr.  It  shall  be  outflung 

In  challenge  to  the  Athenians.     They  know  well 
The  sailor  rabble  loves  you,  and  will  oppose 
But  half  a  heart  to  Biades.     Some  too, 
Of  higher  place,  believe  you  wronged,  and  fear 
The  angered  gods  will  station  on  your  side. 
By  spearman  Ares,  you  shall  keep  the  oath 
Great-sworn  on  Sparta's  ground,  to  set  her  lance 
Through  Athens'  triple  shield !    Ay,  though  you  lie 
In  irons  waiting  death. 

Bia.  The  sunken  souls 

Of  deepest,  damned  Dis  have  never  borne 
So  vile  a  sting!     You  can  not  mean  it,  Pyrrha. 
Cast  on  my  soul  what  Pluto  would  disbar 
From  his  fire- vaulted  hell?     I'll  proudly  die 
For  treachery  to  you,  but  clear  my  name 
To  Athens.     Take  not  life  and  honor  too! 

Pyrr.  One  you  may  save, — your  life. 

Bia.  What  do  you  say? 


ASONOFHERMES  191 

Pyrr.  Draw  Phernes  back  to  us,  and  you  shall  live. 

Bia.  You  offer  me  but  death,  knowing  I  could  not  live 
A  traitor. 

Pyrr.  You  choose  to  die  as  one? 

Bia.  Oh,  Zeus, 

All-giver,  hear! 

Pyrr.  What  gain  is  death  to  you 

If  reputation  dies  eternally 
In  Athens'  hate?     Sparta  will  do  as  much 
As  spare  your  life. 

Bia.  Nay— 

Pyrr.  She  shall  nothing  know 

Of  this  hour's  lapse 

Bia.  O,  bitter  stars!    O,  Death 

Past  fatal! — reaching  o'er  thy  charnel  bound 
To  usurp  the  immortal  garden!     Die  a  traitor! 
Never  will  dew  from  a  forgiving  eye 
Fall  on  my  grave! 

Pyrr.  Nor  will  the  upbraiding  gaze 
Of  Heaven  be  more  tender.     For  you  chose 
To  risk  your  country's  life  on  turn  of  chance, 
Having  no  surety  that  drawn  to  danger 
You  then  could  pluck  her  out.     Ah,  made  her  fate 
Your  stake  at  dice,  because,  escaped  the  hazard, 
You'd  toss  with  her  to  fortune !     And  your  guilt 
Is  heavy  in  her  fall  as  though  your  hand 
Bore  down  her  last  defence  and  fierce  untrussed 
Her  heart  to  th'  wolvish  air. 

Bia.  Oh,  Pyrrha,  Pyrrha! 

Pyrr.  Then  why  haste  on  to  death?     The  noblest  shades 
Will  make  no  room  for  you  where'er  they  walk. 
Why  rush  through  the  first  gate  to  meet  their  cold 
Immortal  scorn? 

Bia.  But  life  with  honor  gone! 


192  ASONOFHERMES 


Pyrr.  If  death  could  buy  it,  then  'twere  wise 
To  buy  so  goldenly.     But  that's  too  late. 
Choose  life, — with  honor  such  as  Sparta  lays 
On  those  who  serve  but  her.     This  treachery 
That  we've  by  hap  unbagged  in  'ts  eanling  hour 
Shall  be  safe  snugged  again.     And  cherished  too! 
For  in  my  eyes  it  is  the  one  brave  flower 
Of  your  most  barren  being.     None  shall  know  it, 
And  Sparta,  as  she  will,  may  laurels  weave 
About  your  faith. 

Bia.  But  Hieron? 

Pyrr.  [To  Hieron]  You'll  swear  with  me?    [He  hesitates] 
In  Sparta's  name?  [Takes  his  hand}  And  mine? 

Bia.  No,  no! 

Hie.  I'll  swear. 

Bia.  Oh,  not  that  price!     No,  till  the  end 

O'  the  world! 

Pyrr.  Life,  Biades,  life! 

Bia.  I  will  not  do  it! 

Athens  may  singly  conquer! 

Pyrr.  Then  you  die 

By  Sparta's  hand,  and  Athens  holds  your  name 
Accursed  through  time.     The  irons,  Hieron. 

[Biades  hunches  despairingly,  his  face  hidden] 

Pyrr.  [Apart]  Gods!     He  will  yield! 

Bia.  [Looking  up]  I'll  do  it, — dare  to  live, — 
And  Attica  may  call  me  what  she  will. 
A  traitor  breathes,  and  feels  the  blessed  sun. 
He's  ne'er  so  poor  but  can  his  housing  find 
In  alms-lapped  Nature.     Her  unchoosing  airs 
Ask  not  his  name  before  they  touch  his  brow 
And  tell  him  when  'tis  spring.     He  yet  may  dream 
In  unrebuking  shades,  and  birds  will  sing 
As  liquidly  as  though  he  were  not  by. 
Food  is  yet  food,  and  wine  is  ever  wine. 


ASONOFHERMES  193 

I  will  not  die.  [Rises]  By  Maia's  son,  I'll  live! 
What  is  my  country  but  the  bit  of  earth 
Where  chance  did  spawn  me?     'Tis  no  treachery. 
We're  traitors  unto  love,  not  hate, — to  trust, 
Not  doubt  and  slander  such  as  Athens  poured 
Upon  me  guiltless. 

Pyrr.  [Crossing  to  him]  So  you've  found  a  way 
To  save  both  life  and  honor ! 

Bia.  May  a  worm 

Not  creep  to  cleaner  dust?     Pyrrha,  be  kind. 
Spare  me  the  trampling  foot. 

Pyrr.  We've  lost  an  hour. 

You'll  send  to  Phernes? 

Bia.  First  we'll  signal  him. 

He  may  be  setting  off.     We  must  despatch, 
For  if  he  saw  no  sign  he  meant  to  draw 
His  fleet  from  doubtful  waters  and  give  aid 
To  neither  side.     [Taking  up  a  light] 

Three  cressets — that  was  true. 
When  once  these  lights  have  spoken,  he'll  receive 
Your  envoy  as  myself.     Then  Hieron 
May  bear  confirming  word  to  him,  and  bring 
Assurance  back. 

Hie.  [To  Pyrrha]  You  do  not  doubt? 

Pyrr.  Doubt  now? 

Nay,  Hieron.     I'll  trust  him  with  his  life. 

Hie.  But— 

Bia.  [Trembling]  O,  ye  gazing  gods,  must  it  be  done? 
In  Athens'  living  heart  set  up  the  torch 
That  leaves  her  a  charred  blotch  where  she  lay  white 
'Neath  heaven  and  smiled  up  to  sister  stars! 

Pyrr.  Come,  Biades! 

Bia.  Shall  not  the  earth  be  lost 

To  God's  own  eye  when  Athens,  quenched,  no  more 
Marks  where  we  wander?     I  can  not  do  it! 


194  ASONOFHERMES 

Pyrr.  [Taking  the  cresset]  Too  late, 
My  lord! 

[Fixes  light  in  the  open  embrasure,  then  places  two  others. 

Blades  falls  back,  mantling  his  face] 
Hie.  To  Phernes  now !     We  must  not  boggle  this ! 
Pyrr.  If  you've  a  doubt,  sir,  look  on  that. 

[Points  to  Blades] 
Hie.  I'll  hasten  back  to  you. 
Bia.  But  note  our  light. 

The  galley  rowers  may  return  ere  you, 
And  move  us  to  the  east. 

Hie.  I  shall  not  lose  you. 

Bia.  What  escort  will  you  take?     A  noble  one 
Will  best  please  Phernes. 

Hie.  Mirador  and  Agis 

Shall  go  with  me.     Meanthes  shall  remain 
To  be  your  watch. 

Bia.  You'll  tell  them  nothing? 

Hie.  Sir, 

I've  sworn.     I  shall  say  naught  but  this.     That  Athens 
Proffered  you  pardon,  and  you  hold  to  Sparta. 

[Exit  Hieron.     Pyrrha  watches  from  the  door  until  the 
boats  put  off.     The  sea  is  now  dark.     Blades  takes  up 
a  harp  and  strums  it] 
Pyrr.  [Turning]  You  can  do  that?    And  I — I  held  my 

heart 

At  halt,  there  at  the  door,  nor  turned  my  head 
Lest  pity  should  emburn  my  eyes  to  tears. 

[Crosses  to  him] 

Dost  know  that  all  the  juniper  in  the  world, 
Burnt  in  thy  house  of  honor,  would  not  cleanse 
Its  doors  of  stench?     [Throws  the  harp  aside] 

And  you  can  use  that  air 
For  breath  of  song! 


ASONOFHERMES  195 

Bia.  Those  are  the  bitterest  words 
That  ever  dropped  me  gall,  but  I  can  find 
A  crushed  balsam  in  them, — for  they  say 
You  might  have  loved  me,  Pyrrha. 

Pyrr.  I  might. 

Bia.  You  did. 

The  moment  that  I  cast  my  Spartan  mask 
And  showed  me  true  to  Athens,  you  were  mine. 
That  instant  there  was  joy-fall  on  your  heart 
That  swept  its  icy  sentinels  with  fire, 
And  they  were  down.     Oh,  had  I  then  proved  staunch, 
Ta'en  helmet  off  to  death  and  bade  him  strike, 
You  would  have  closed  my  eyes  with  kisses  warm 
As  rose-drift  on  a  tomb 

Pyrr.  Nay,  I'd  have  kept 

Those  eyes  to  be  my  light  on  earth,  not  star 
Elysian  skies.     Had  fought  for  you  against 
My  mother  Sparta.     Fought  as  woman  fights 
For  her  one  love, — with  wit  and  armed  tongue, 
And  cunning  that  throws  puzzle  on  the  gods. 
Fought  till  subdued  Death  had  knelt  to  Fate 
And  prayed  your  life  for  me! 

Bia.  Have  I  lost  that? 

Pyrr.  You  yielded — sank — unlustred  even  your  soul 
For  a  poor  pinch  of  time 

Bia.                                      But  if  some  touch 
Of  heaven  could  make  me  true  again 

Pyrr.  Look  on 

Those  lights,  that  you  with  single  breath  could  turn 
To  weeping  smoke, — they've  lit  a  quenchless  wreck 
That  all  your  sighs  blow  vain  against, — a  flame 
Ungovernable  to  remorse.     Not  furrowing  winds 
That  split  the  watery  fields  to  Thetis'  bed, 
And  make  a  foamy  Ural  of  her  shore, 
Can  sweep  it  out.     Ay,  groan  and  shake, 
And  draw  your  mantle  up !     Behind  a  cover 


196  ASONOFHERMES 

Thick  as  Taygetus'  sides,  I'd  see  you  limned 
In  shame! 

Bia.  [Springing  up]«  What's  shame  to  love?     To  love 

fire-sprung 

From  instant  meeting  of  fore-strangered  eyes? 
And  such  was  ours,  there  in  that  Athens'  grove. 
Imperial  of  itself,  it  asks  no  loan 
Of  subject  virtue's  smock  to  drape  it  royal. 
As  fen-born  vapors  seem  to  nest  the  stars, 
Yet  far  below  them  do  but  thatch  the  world 
When  they  look  down,  the  vassal  qualities 
May  lift  no  touch  to  love,  that  yet  must  wear, 
To  earth's  unvantaged  eyes,  their  reek  and  hue.  ' 

Pyrr.  Aerial  love  is  but  an  earthling  still, 
It  must  come  down  for  food  or  mortal  die, 
And  what  but  virtues  feed  it? 

Bia.  Nay,  you  speak 

Of  a  fair,  lesser  thing, — a  grace  not  lit 
From  thurible  in  uncreated  Hand, 
But  coaxed  from  clay  to  a  persuaded  life. 
Garbed  as  the  days, — patched,  plastered,  hung  with  dear 
Possessive  vanities,  it  serves  to  make 
Contentment's  bed,  and  cook  a  patient  meal 
On  comfort's  hearth, — even  snuggles  in  the  void 
That  else  might  ache,  sings  low,  and  makes 
Companioned  feet  tread  bravely  to  the  grave. 
It  has  a  thousand  names,  but  never  one 
Is  love.     Be  thine  that  white,  ungendered  spark, 
And  naught  can  feed  it,  naught  can  make  it  less. 
Virtue  and  vice,  nobility  and  shame, 
Are  rags  that  drop  away,  while  you  sweep  on, 
Stripped  as  a  flame,  with  arms  about  your  star. 

[Pyrrha  is  silent.     Both  start  at  sound  of  a  noise  on  the 
water] 

Pyrr.  What  sound  is  that? 

Bia.  The  rowers  are  returning. 


A    SON    OF    HERMES  197 

Pyrr.  So  quietly? 

Bia.  [Goes  to  door  and  closes  it] 

The  world  shall  not  come  in 
On  me  and  you.     Be  mine  this  broken  hour, 
And  Hieron  may  flute  through  after-time 
At  secret  doors  where  you  lock  up  your  favors. 
For  you  will  go  with  him. 

Pyrr.  A  prophet  too? 

Bia.  You'll  make  his  home,  but  I  shall  come  and  go 
The  unseen  master  there. 

Pyrr.  Now  for  the  vision! 

Bia.  You'll   watch   your   door, — the   unheard   step   is 

mine, — 

And  rock  the  babe  born  of  a  dream  of  me. 
And  I,  far-wandered,  lost  unto  myself, 
Shall  never  lose  you,  Pyrrha.     As  the  light 
Wrapping  the  wave  reveals  its  silver  dance, 
My  being  shall  exult  through  shade  and  wear 
The  chlamys  of  your  gleam.     Your  voice  behind 
The  wind  shall  draw  me  lover-lipped  to  meet 
Adventure's  breath.     You'll  lie  upon  the  hush 
That  girdles  evening, — be  the  thrill  within 
The  throstle's  note,  and  silence  when 
His  song  is  done. 

Pyrr.  Nay,  it  will  speak  of  Phania, 

Of  Sybaris, — 

Bia.  Ay,  and  a  hundred  more 

In  whom  I've  sought  for  thee,  my  Pyrrha,  always  thec! 
'Twill  speak  of  them  as  statues  speak  of  shards 
About  their  feet, — the  sculptor's  broken  dreams 
That  made  the  perfect  one. 

[The  ship  rocks] 

Pyrr.  We're  moving! 

Bia.  Yes, 

You  know, — to  safer  waters.     Listen,  Pyrrha, 
To  me — to  me! 


198  A    SON    OF    HERMES 

Pyrr.  Those  sounds— 

Bia.  [Kneels]  Hear  me!    My  head 
I'll  votive  lay  till  you  may  set  your  feet 
Like  tangled  roses  in  my  curls 

[Pyrrha  springs  toward  the  door,  but  Blades  is  before  her. 
The  noises  increase.  Groans,  blows,  shouts] 

Pyrr.  Aside ! 

I'll  pass! 

Bia.    O,  save  our  bones.     I  am  the  stronger. 
You  know  't. 

Pyrr.  You!  I'll  wind  you  like  a  thread! 

Bia.  You  didn't. 

Pyrr.  Didn't  .  .  . 

Bia.  When  we  wrestled. 

Pyrr.  When.  .  .  . 

Oh,  then!  My  arm  was  lame.     Come,  I  will  pass! 

Bia.  Nay,  'twas  your  heart  that  spared  me ! 

Pyrr.  Ay,  like  this! 

[Throws  him  aside.  He  staggers  against  the  wall  for  sup- 
port. She  opens  door.  Two  soldiers  in  armor  silently 
oppose  spears  to  her  passage.  She  slowly  closes  the 
door] 

Pyrr.  Where  are  we  going? 

Bia.  You  love  me.     What  an  arm! 

'Twas  never  lame! 

Pyrr.  Come!    Tell  me  what's  our  port, 
Then  I  shall  know  one  place  we  do  not  go. 

Bia.  Tut,  love!     Pry  into  men's  affairs? 
Be  calm 

Pyrr.  What  does  this  mean?     [Advancing]  I'll  know! 

Bia.  [Retreating]  You  shall!     It  means 
"The  last  lie  wins."     We  go  to  harbor. 

Pyrr.  Ah!  ... 

Those  rowers  . 


ASONOFHERMES  199 

Bia.  Faithful  and  fleet  as  ever  bore 

An  Athenian  general  home.     They  came  upon 
Your  signal 

Pyrr.  Mine? 

Bia.  They  lay  at  watch,  not  Phernes. 
Look  on  those  lights !     O,  trinal  star,  set  high 
By  my  beloved !     My  honor's  flaming  hedge 

Pyrr.  You  fly, 

But  in  a  net!    The  Spartans  heard  those  shouts. 
They  are  in  chase — you'll  see 

Bia.  They're  unprepared. 

The  captains  off  their  ships,  the  guards  in  doubt, 
And  oarsmen  half  asleep.     But  let  them  come 
Far  as  they  dare,  and  if  they  dare  too  far 
From  Persia's  shelter,  the  Athenian  fleet 
Will  close  like  jaws  about  them. 

Pyrr.  [Sits,  with  sudden  hopelessness]  You  have  won, 
My  lord. 

Bia.  I  have. 

Pyrr.  What  will  you  do  with  me? 

Bia.  I'll  wed  thee,  sweet. 

Pyrr.  I'll  not 

Bia.  Yes,  love,  you  will. 

There  is  a  dagger  hangs  in  Phelas'  shop, 
Shall  be  your  bridal  gift.     A  prized  blade 
Of  coppered  gold,  hued  like  a  battle  morning. 
Smooth-cheeked  as  Artemis,  although  inlaid 
With  pictured  tale.     A  captured  Amazon, 
Wrought  palely  in  alloy, — a  silvered  fear 
On  th'  bronzen  flush  of  courage, — bows  before 
Her  conqueror,  a  knight  who  gently  bends 
As  I  do  now 

Pyrr.  [Thrusting  him  off]  No!    Never!     I'll  not  trust 
Your  dolphin  nature!     Long  as  fish  have  fins 
You'll  sport  in  every  sea!     Go — go  to  Phania! 


200  ASONOFHERMES 

Bia.  [Turns  angrily  from  her]  Ay,  by  my  gods  that  I 

have  found  again, 
I  shall  wed  none  but  an  Athenian  maid ! 

[Pyrrha  swoons.     He  rushes  to  her] 
Her  heart  is  still.     O,  curse  my  double- tongue ! 
She's  dead — she's  dead!     She  takes  the  Spartan  way — 
To  die,  not  yield !     Oh,  Pyrrha,  Pyrrha,  Pyrrha ! 

[Rushes  about  distractedly] 
I  will  not  live!     I'll  leap  into  the  sea! 

Pyrr.  [On  her  elbow,  as  he  reaches  door] 
You  might  catch  cold. 

[He  stares  at  her.     She  sits  up] 
Is  this  your  grace  in  love? 
Your  pictured  ease,  with  no  dissuasive  line? 

Bia.  O,  Pyrrha,  peace!    Let  us  be  done  with  cheat 
And  mockery! 

Pyrr.  [Rising]  My  heart  on  that,  my  lord ! 

Bia.  Own  thou  art  mine !     My  world  when  sunsets  die ! 
My  breath  of  meadows  lying  past  the  moon! 
Compassionate  this  earth,  and  in  my  soul 
Fix  thee  its  centre.     Say  thou  'It  come ! 

Pyrr.  My  lord, 

Could  I  be  sure 

Bia.  Ah,  Pyrrha,  there's  no  light 

Falls  from  thine  eye  that  does  not  sway  me  like 
A  bee  in  rose  wind-shaken.     I  am  thine. 
There'll  be  no  battle,  but  a  nuptial  feast 
With  three  great  armies  for  our  brothered  guests. 
Your  land  and  mine  are  one.     Give  me  your  hand. 

Pyrr.  I  will.     For  Sparta's  sake. 

Bia.  And  love's! 

Pyrr.  [Giving  her  hand]  And  love's. 

[Curtain] 


ACT  V 

SCENE:  The  garden  of  Pelagon,  as  in  first  act.  Enter 
youths  and  maidens  dancing  about  Pyrrha  and  Biades. 
They  sing: 

Hymen,  god  of  bended  knees, 

Who  would  gain  to  thee  must  lose! 

Take  from  us  thy  merry  fees, 

Though  our  fairest  thou  dost  choose, — 

Pyrrha  and  our  Biades ! 

Fling  the  garland  and  the  wreath! 

Roses,  roses  consecrate, 
That  upgive  their  happy  breath 

In  an  ardor  'neath  our  feet, 
Kissing  fortune  in  their  death! 

Sparta  's  won,  and  Athens'  wed! 

Shyest  hours  of  midnight,  bring 
Charm  and  blessing  for  the  bed 

Whence  a  fairer  Greece  shall  spring 
And  her  golden  peace  be  bred ! 

[They  dance  off,  lower  right,  as  Pelagon  and  Stesilaus 

enter  middle  left] 

Pel.  Ha,  neatly  sung!     By  Hermes,  they  have  made 
A  tickling  in  my  sandals. 

Ste.  Frivol! 

Pel.  Eh? 

Nay,  youth  must  wind  his  horn 

Ste.  Not  in  my  ears! 

201 


202  ASONOFHERMES 

Pel.  Though  he  never  come  to  the  hunt.     But  Biades 
Has  run  the  chase,  and  's  bravely  home  again, 
The  game  in  pack. 

Ste.  Too  noble  game  for  him ! 
My  girl !    That  I  should  ever  play  the  sire 
To  a  fop  of  Athens! 

Pel.  If  the  burn's  so  raw, 

You've  secret  salve  for  it. 

Ste.  Yes.     'Tis  not  my  blood 

That  so  forgets  its  source! 

Pel.  Sh!  Stesilaus! 

A  little  butter  on  the  tongue,  my  friend, 
Does  no  man  harm. 

Ste.  Butter  a  hackle,  not 

My  tongue!     If  I'm  so  rubbed,  I'll  rasp  the  winds 
Till  they  sprout  ears.     Don't  "sh"  me,  Pelagon. 
I'll  muffle  in  no  corners. 

Pel.  Hist,  I  say 

Ste.  Don't  zizz  into  my  beard !     We  are  not  curs 
To  nose  and  smell  in  council ! 

Pel.  Ruin's  on  us! 

You  will  be  heard 

[Enter  Menas,  upper  right] 

Menas.  Joy  to  the  noble  fathers! 

Sweet  saviors  of  our  city ! 

Ste.  Sweet! 

Menas.  What  says 

Our  Stesilaus? 

Pel.  Ahem !    The  Spartan  joy 

Is  ever  dumb.     But  see  him  stirred  to  heart 
That  by  a  gift  from  out  his  very  life, 
His  dearest  daughter,  peace  is  home  in  Athens, 
And  's  forced  no  more  to  camp  and  cadge  and  beg 
At  our  shut  gates.     Yet  it  goes  hard  to  part 
Wi'  the  fairest  branch  on  's  tree. 


ASONOFHERMES  203 

Menas.  In  Biades 

He  finds  a  treasured  son. 

Ste.  By  a  mermaid's  shoes, 

A  precious  son! 

Menas.          How,  sir? 

Pel.  Indeed,  indeed, 

A  jewel  of  a  son!     Will  you,  friend  Menas, 
Float  with  the  senators,  and  bring  to  shore 
Report  of  how  they  drift, — what  currents  favor 
And  what  now  counter  us? 

Menas.  I'll  go,  my  lords, 

To  hear  the  latest  honor  they  conclude 
Best  caps  your  fame,  and  bring  it  in  a  word.  [Exit  Menas] 

Ste.  I  had  two  minds  to  throw  the  truth  in  's  face 
And  see  him  strangle  on  it. 

Pel.  Friend,  wouldst  make 

My  old  knees  creak  to  earth?     I  sue  to  you 
Be  soft  as  prudence.     Shall  we  now  be  false 
To  our  dearly  tended  hope — united  Greece? 
Now  when  the  fact  is  on  us,  and  our  dream 
Walks  in  the  day?     I  beg  you  clear  your  heart 
Of  selfish  fire  that  eats  the  very  pattern 
Of  love's  new  world.     It  is  ungraced,  perverse 
As  altar  flame  that  would  devour  the  shrine 
'Twas  lit  to  honor. 

Ste.  Think  of  Greece?     What's  Greece, 
When  my  own  daughter  pairs  with — 

Pel.  Nay,  but  mine. 

When  you  are  bitterest  set,  say  to  yourself 
She's  of  my  loins,  and  when  more  softly  taken, 
Then  call  her  yours.     But  openly  be  constant 
To  a  father's  right  in  her,  and  proudly  sire 
Her  honors.     And  's  for  Biades,  he's  but 
A  brocket  yet,  his  antlers  barely  bossed. 
My  oath  upon  it,  your  reshaping  hand 


204  ASONOFHERMES 

Firm-cupped  about  his  overweening  spring, 
Will  be  a  second  cradle  where  he'll  grow 
Fair  to  your  fashion.     Think  on  that. 

Ste.  I  will. 

There's  comfort.     Ay,  so,  so.     The  terms  of  peace 
Make  him  a  Spartan.     Pyrrha  stood  with  me 
Stout-willed  on  that. 

Pel.  Then  whist!     You  trust  your  wife? 

Ste.  You  speak  to  Stesilaus. 

Pel.  Eh,  I  know 

You've  her  in  hand.     My  Sachinessa  now —     [Sighs] 
But  she  loves  Phania  best.     That  locks  her  tongue. 
And,  friend,  do  you  not  see  the  high  all-ruling  Will 
Has  moved  behind  our  own? 

Ste.  I  think  it  so. 

Our  aim  achieves  its  heaven,  though  we  smart 
Beneath  it.     To  the  outer  glozing  fame 
That  now  attires  us  splendent,  we  may  add 
Inmost  applause.     When  we  exchanged  our  babes, 
'Twas  for  this  end  and  day,  and  had  we  held 
To  our  first  intent  and  taken  our  own  again, 
Our  hope  had  died  unfruitive.     'Twas  there 
That  deity  came  in  and  shifted  us 
To  th'  true  sybillic  course. 

Pel.  Who  dares  say  else? 

We'll  wear  the  issue  as  a  sacred  robe 
Fallen  on  us  from  Olympus. 

Ste.  Which  our  wisdom 

Fits  comely  to  us.     Forget  it  not,  such  gift 
Had  been  withheld  from  minds  too  poor  to  be 
The  heirs  of  Zeus. 

Pel.  But  if  the  clay-eyed  mob, 
Whose  pottage  traffic  up  Olympian  paths 
Blocks  commerce  godly  and  invisible 

Ste.  Tush,  cut  the  string,  if  you  have  aught  in  bag. 


ASONOFHERMES  205 

Pel.  Why,  I  would  say  if  some  of  grosser  sight 
Than  our  two  selves,  should  fumble  on  our  secret 
That  Pyrrha  is  Athens  born 

Ste.  Nay,  put  your  fears 

In  pocket.     It  shall  not  be  known. 
[Enter  Biades] 

Bia.  Ha,  nunky! 

Where  is  my  happy  father?     [Sees  Stesilaus] 

A  suit,  my  lord! 

I've  Pyrrha's  leave  to  make  our  home  in  Athens 
If  thou  wilt  bless  our  dwelling.     Crave  thy  grace 
For  sake  of  her  in  whom  thy  pride  best  flowers ! 
Here  she'll  o'erlay  all  Spartan  crudity 
With  suavest  bloom,  and  take  e'en  native  place 
Where  Athens'  love  would  set  her. 

Ste.  Never,  sir!     [Exit,  middle  left] 

Bia.  The  gray  fox  snaps.     Ho,  but  I'll  draw  his  teeth, 
And  he  shall  yelp  for  't  too ! 

Pel.  Shame,  sir!     Not  give 

The  road  to  him?     The  father  of  your  bride? 

Bia.  I  will  when  she's  his  daughter. 

Pel.  What!     What,  boy? 

Bia.  I  say  when  she's  his  daughter.     Let  that  in 
At  your  good  ear,  and  in  the  t'other  one 
I'll  call  you  father. 

Pel.  Ruin!     It's  come! 

Bia.  Who  thinks 

I'd  make  that  Spartan  grunt  my  father,  knows 
Not  me!     What?     Set  that  boding  beard  at  head 
Of  my  Athenian  house?     Or  go  to  Sparta 
To  hut  me  where  I  would  not  ask  a  stall 
For  a  borrowed  horse? 

Pel.  But 

Bia.  Scratch  my  helpless  throat 

With  bread  a  pig  would  stick  at?     Swallow  brew 


206  A    SON    OF    HERMES 

Of  salt  and  soot?     And  chafe  my  pumiced  skin 
With  itching  linsey? — or  an  untanned  hide, 
As  man  were  still  the  beast  that  wore  it? 

Pel.  Peace, 

My  son 

Bia.  Say  grace  for  leeks  and  goose-foot? 

Pel  But- 

Bia.  Though  Eros  pinned  me  head  and  foot  with  shafts, 
I've  saved  my  eyes,  bless  my  united  wits, 
And  know  the  high-road!     I'll  not  lose  me  on 
A  pig-trail  to  a  sty. 

Pel.  But  if  these  Spartans  hear 

They'll  sack  the  city !     Zeus  deliver  us ! 
We're  lost!  we're  lost!     Oh,  Biades! 

Bia.  [Calm]  Talk  in  a  muff,  good  father  Pelagon, 
Or  we  indeed  are  lost. 

Pel.  You'll  keep  the  secret? 

Bia.  A  time.     I've  plans  in  seed  will  make  all  Sparta 
A  garden  for  my  Athens,  where  her  fame 
Shall  browse  to  its  tallest.     Trust  me,  Pelagon. 
I'm  still  a  general ! 

[Enter,  lower  right,  young  men  who  surround  Biades,  and 
press  him  of,  singing] 

Gander  now  must  keep  with  goose! 

Biades,  O,  Biades, 
Thou  shalt  ne'er  the  cord  unloose, 

For  the  mighty  god  decrees 
He  shall  hang  who  dares  the  noose! 
[Re-enter  Stesilaus] 

Ste.  He's  gone?     I  took 
My  anger  off  where  it  might  safely  blow. 
This  path  brushed  clear  by  Heaven  must  not  be  closed 
By  our  stumbling  selves.     The  widgeon !     He  would  fly 
Above  the  eagle,  but  I'll  snip  his  feathers, 
Give  me  good  time !    He'd  live  in  Athens,  ha ! 


ASONOFHERMES  207 

And  swore  on  Hera's  altar  he  would  be 
A  son  of  Sparta! 

Pel.  Nay,  I  noted,  sir, 

That  Sparta  was  not  named  in  's  oath. 

Ste.  What  now? 

Pel.  Naught,  naught,  my  friend!     Yet  he  but  swore  to 

make 
The  land  of  Pyrrha  his. 

Ste.  And  what  meant  that 

But  Sparta?     If  his  warm  wooer's  oath  must  cool, 
We've  winters  that  will  do  it. 

Pel.  Caution's  best. 

Slow-mare  will  get  you  home. 

Ste.  A  year  or  two 

Of  good  black  bread,  and  free  winds  on  his  skin 
Will  take  the  maiden  from  his  cheeks  and  set 
A  true  man's  beard  there.     Tush !     I  thought  that  Fate, 
Granting  my  main  desire,  gave  me  this  plague, 
Which,  with  the  rest,  now  proves  my  life  has  pleased 
High  arbiters.     You're  silent,  Pelagon. 

Pel.  No,  no!     Yes,  yes!     I  think  so.     'Tis  indeed! 

Ste.  Come,  come,  my  friend !    We  will  go  forth  and  meet 
The  occasion  as  a  guest,  bethinking  us 
We  walk  between  mankind  and  deity. 

[They  start  out  and  are  met  by  Alcanor  and  Phania  who 
fall  before  them] 

Pha.  [Kneeling  to  Stesilaus]  Your  blessing,  father1 

Ale.  [At  Pelagon' s  feet]  Blessing,  dearest  father! 

Pel.  What,  what! 

Pha.  [  To  Stesilaus]  Forgive  your  child ! 

Ale.  The  priest— 

Ste.  My  child? 

Ale.  The  priest  has  made  us  one. 

Pel.  What  priest?     Who  dared 

Defile  the  altar  with  such  rite? 


208  ASONOFHERMES 

Ale.  [Rising]  Defile? 

Though  you're  my  Phania's  father,  you  shall  cast 
No  stain  upon  that  holy  ceremony 
Whose  odor  yet  is  round  us.     Sir,  the  priest 
Has  blessed  us.     Do  you  as  you  please.     Come,  Phania! 
Come,  sweet!     We'll  smile  at  this.     Though  a  father's 

curse 

Bethorn  our  way,  a  gentler  heaven  will  drop 
Its  soft  approval  where  thy  feet  must  pass.     [Going] 

Pel.  Speak,  Stesilaus !     Stop  your  wretched  son ! 

Ale.  Not  wretched,  sir,  while  Phania  is  my  own. 
We  shall  be  blest  when  you,  too  late,  beseech 
Unhearing  gods  forgive  you  this ! 

Pel.  Stay,  sir! 

O,  miserable  boy ! 

Pha.  No,  father,  no! 

He's  happy  in  my  love  as  leaf  in  air, 
As  the  sea-crystalled  fish,  as  lotos  in 
Its  pool, — and  I — O,  sir,  my  joy  has  wings, 
And  tho'  I  love  you  dear  and  daughterly, — 
Who  gave  me  life, — your  anger  has  no  weight 
To  keep  my  feet  on  earth.     Like  twirling  lark 
Too  high  for  storm  to  reach,  I  dance  above 
Displeasure's  cloud.     [Trips  off  with  Alcanor] 

Pel.  Sweet  wretches !     Here's  a  turn ! 
My  little  Phania!     Friend,  what  shall  we  do? 

Ste.  Again  the  finger  of  the  gods. 

Pel.  The  gods 

To  limbo!     I  will  save  my  daughter! 

Ste.  Yours? 

Pel.  Yea,  by  each  hour  of  prattle  at  my  knee! 
By  all  my  care  that's  been  her  constant  nurse, 
And  every  joy  that  from  devotion  sprang 
To  meet  me  like  a  flower  as  she  grew, 
She's  mine,  mine,  mine!     Oh,  Stesilaus,  oh, 


ASONOFHERMES  209 

Whosever  she  may  be,  I  love  the  chick, 
And  she  shall  not  be  damned ! 

[Enter,  upper  left,  Sachinessa  and  Archippe] 

Ste.  Here's  a  reproach 

Comes  with  a  dual  mouth.     If  we  show  doubt, 
They'll  put  us  under  pestle.     Rally,  sir! 

Sac.  [To  Archippe]  Are  you  all  lump? 

Pick  up  your  courage.     Why ! 
The  gods  are  gods  by  their  audacity. 
I'll  bring  it  off.     Now,  Pelagon? 

Pel.  [Who  has  turned  to  flee]  What,  you, 
My  love? 

Sac.  Such  heavy  news !     Enough  to  make 
The  gods  no  more  co-venture  with  a  world 
Augmented  so! 

Pel.  What,  Sachinessa,  what? 

Sac.  Our  Phania's  married  to  Alcanor. 

Pel.  Eh? 

•Sac.  Now  are  you  pleased?     Now  is  your  cruelty 
Full-fed,  or  must  it  glut  again? 

Pel.  My  sweet — 

Sac.  You'll  meddle  with  high  Zeus!     Have  you  enough? 

Pel.  Oh,  Sachinessa! 

Sac.  Brother  and  sister  bound 

In  an  abhorrent  union  that  will  drive 
Their  shades  forever  from  Elysian  ground! 
Nay,  even  Hades  will  make  fast  her  gates 
'Gainst  such  offenders,  innocently  vile! 
Archippe,  speak  to  that  unbending  man, 
Half  author  of  this  shame!     I'd  thin  his  beard 
If  Heaven  had  mocked  me  with  his  long,  smug  face 
For  husband!     Ugh!     The  whiskered  horse! 

Arc.  Dumb,  sir? 

You've  no  defence? — no  master  argument 
To  prove  your  wisdom's  never  off  the  road 


210  ASONOFHERMES 

To  Zeus'  gate?     Not  once  in  all  your  life, 
Although  your  daughter's  to  her  brother  wedded? 

Ste.  'Tis  well.     I  can  not  doubt  the  gods. 
[They  stare  at  him] 

Arc.  Her  brother  born? 

So  foul  a  hap? 

Ste.  A  thing  too  dread  in  thought, 
And  in  the  act  unutterable  if  Zeus 
Be  unconcerned  in  it.     Therefore  believe 
His  hand  here  moves,  and  holy  majesty 
O'errules  the  mortal  scruple,  so  dividing 
This  horror  from  its  kind.     May  it  not  be 
The  blood  of  Stesilaus  hath  in  'ts  flow 
A  heavenly  tinct  that  makes  it  not  a  sin, 
But  rather  virtue,  to  keep  pure  the  stream 
From  baser  founts?     They've  done  no  more  than  kings 
And  gods  before  them. 

Sac.  Pelagon,  your  croak! 

Pel.  I  take  a  lower  ground,  my  dearest  dove. 
All  Athens  knows  me  modest 

Sac.  Ay  to  that! 

Can  blush  as  deep  as  any  crow  that  flies! 

Pel.  Now,  now!     From  first  to  last  I've  held  it  truth 
That  breeding  scantles  birth,  and  on  that  count 
Make  Phania  our  daughter. 

Sac.  Oh,  you  do? 

Pel.  I  stand  on  this,  that  training  is  the  man, 
Or  woman,  let  us  say,  and  not  the  blood 
We  buried  with  our  fathers.     So  these  two 
Mate  not  ancestrally,  but  in  their  lives 
That  distantly  upbred  have  not  between  them 
A  structural  thread  to  bind  them  of  one  house. 

Sac.  What  men  are  these? 

Arc.  I  am  no  more  afraid 

Of  him  I  thought  was  Stesilaus. 


ASONOFHERMES  211 

Ste.                                            Listen, 
You  women.     Though  we  are  thus  righted 

Sac.  Humph! 

Ste.  In  man's  and  Heaven's  eye,  we  yet  will  bow 
To  your  own  wish  in  this.     As  once  we  gave 
Your  sighs  the  right  of  way,  we  now  will  ease 
This  second  woe  by  taking  swiftest  means 
To  part  this  clucking  pair. 

Sac.  You'll  yield  to  us? 

Arc.  How  like  you,  Sachinessa,  this  high  place 
Above  the  gods? 

Sac.  They  shall  be  parted? 

Ste.  Ay, 

We  do  consent. 

Sac.  Nay,  you  shall  please  yourselves. 
For  my  own  part,  I  will  not  break  their  bonds 
And  set  their  hearts  a-bleeding. 

Arc.  No,  nor  I. 

Ste.  How  now,  vapidity? 

Arc.  I  mean,  my  lord, 

You  have  convinced  me,  and  this  marriage  bond 
Shall  be  as  Zeus  has  made  it. 

Sac.  Pelagon, 

Your  reason  captures  mine,  and  I  repent 
My  mockery.     This  strange  event  's  no  more 
Uncouth,  now  you  have  pried  the  way  for  me 
To  wisdom's  bed  of  truth.     I  clearly  see 
That  man  and  woman  of  one  mother  born 
May  be  no  kin.     The  marriage  shall  stand. 

Pel.  In  name  of  Zeus! 

Arc.  Yes,  in  his  name. 

Ste.                                                            Nay,  wife, 
We  know  your  simple  heart,  and  read  its  horror 
Through  this  pretence  so  suddenly  clapped  on. 
We  shall  reject  a  forced  and  sad  submission 


ASONOFHERMES 

Pel.  Ay,  ay,  we  shall !     I'll  act  at  once,  and  stop 
Their  kisses,  riveting  a  bond  unblessed 

Sac.  Unblessed? 

Pel.  My  golden  joy,  I  speak  your  thought 

Not  mine. 

[A  clamor  in  street] 

Ste.  They  come  for  us. 

Pel.  I  hear  my  name. 

We'll  out  and  greet  them. 

Ste.  No,  my  friend. 

Let  them  come  in  unnoted. 

Pel.  Ay,  we'll  sit 

Withdrawn,  in  gentle  argument.     Here's  shade. 

[They  go  aside.    Enter  Lysander,  Agis,  Creon,  Menas,  and 
a  score  of  Spartans  and  Athenians] 

Lys.  Is  Stesilaus  here?     We  must  be  heard. 

Arc.  He's  here. 

Menas.  And  Pelagon!     Where's  Pelagon? 

Sac.  His  good  ear's  toward,  sir. 

Pel.  [Unable  to  keep  aside]  Did  I  not  hear 
My  name? 

Sac.  Why,  so  I  said. 

Agis.  [Advancing  to  Stesilaus]  My  lord,  we  come 

Ste.  What  haste,  good  Agis?     Goes  the  world  so  fast? 

Agis.  As  fast  as  Fate  can  drive  it,  and  you,  my  lord, 
Are  under  foot. 

Pel.  [Who  has  been  listening  to  Menas] 

You  hear  it,  Stesilaus ! 
Athens  is  ashes !     We're  betrayed,  betrayed ! 

[Blades,  Pyrrha,  Phania,  Alcanor,  and  their  companions 
swarm  in,  lower  right] 

Ste.  Silence,  and  let  us  hear!     Now,  Agis,  speak. 

Agis.  And  grieve  that  'tis  my  part.  The  Spartans  know 
Your  treachery 


ASONOFHERMES  213 

Ste.  Who  dares  give  such  a  name 

To  deed  of  mine? 

Agis.  Denial  comes  too  far 

Behind  the  proof,  my  lord. 

Ste.  The  proof?     What  proof? 

Lys.  'Tis  known  to  all.     The  very  curb  cries  out 
That  Pyrrha  is  Athenian  born,  the  child 
Of  Pelagon. 

Pyrr.        Oh,  Zeus! 

Bia.  Bear  up,  my  Pyrrha! 

Agis.  Ay,  Athens  weds  with  Athens,  and  on  that 
You  build  the  peace  of  Sparta!     A  bold  deceit 
Of  yours  and  Pelagon's,  whereby  we're  sold 
To  a  foeman's  pleasure! 

A  Spartan.  Though  the  heart  of  Athens 

Be  in  the  knot  that  binds  your  traitorous  bargain, 
We'll  cut  it  through! 

Agis.  Will  you  deny  you  changed 

Your  babes  in  cradle? 

[Silence] 

Bia.  Pray  you,  who  revealed 

This  ancient  secret? 

Menas.  Creon  came 

Bia.  Ah,  Creon! 

Menas.  Before  the  senate,  then  in  seat  to  unfold 
From  rivalrous  invention,  topless  honors 
For  these  two  lords,  whose  guilt  had  long  devoured 
Such  labor's  root  and  reason. 

Bia.  Creon  came? 

Menas.  And  bared  the  tale,  made  his  by  accident, 
And  swore  you  knew  it  too, — that  Pyrrha  there 
Is  Pelagon's  daughter,  and  Phania  is  the  child 
Of  Spartan  Stesilaus. 

Pha.  Oh,  oh,  oh! 

Ale.  A  rope  for  me  then! 


214  ASONOFHERMES 

Ore.  [To  Blades]  Sir,  I  did  not  speak, 

But  trusted  all  to  you,  until  the  secret 
Laid  night  on  Phania's  innocence  and  grew 
Too  foul  to  keep. 

Pyrr.  You  knew  this,  Biades? 

Bia.  And  knew  you  would  forgive! 

Pyrr.  This  was  the  spring 

Of  all  your  oaths !     In  my  espoused  hand 
You'd  lay  my  country's  peace,  knowing  her  name 
Was  Attica!     This  was  your  proof  of  love. 
The  oiled  wedge  that  let  you  in  my  heart ! 
False  in  the  trothal  moment  that  should  make 
The  foulest  for  an  instant  pure ! 

Bia.  But  hear 

Pyrr.  Oh,  in  that  hour  which  women  wrap  in  rose 
And  hide  where  thoughts  like  guardian  doves  may  go, 
You  set  a  cautel  touching  it  with  death 
That  leaves  me  treasureless ! 

Bia.  My  Pyrrha, 

Pyrr.  Not  yours ! 

Bia.  Howe'er  'twas  done,  I  won  you ! 

Pyrr.  Won  a  Spartan! 

Now  keep  the  shadow.     As  an  Athenian  maid 
I  do  renounce  you !     [Escapes  him] 

Bia.  Ah!     Zeus  loves  the  dice. 

He's  always  at  the  game.     But  who'd  have  thought 
This  throw  would  be  against  me?    Hear  me,  sweet! 

[To  Stesilaus] 

Dear  father,  speak  to  her.     She'll  heed  your  voice, 
Your  judgment  ripe,  and  words  set  out  like  cups 
With  wisdom's  honey. 

Pel.  [Awake  to  father  ship]  Ay,  my  son,  I  will ! 

Bia.  Not  you,  in  name  of  hope !     [Follows  Pyrrha] 

Ale.  Monsters  of  fatherhood,  how  dare  you  show 
Your  faces  in  this  sun?     Go  seek  some  cave 


ASONOFHERMES  215 

Whose  darkest  den  will  not  betray  a  shame 

Of  its  own  hue !     No,  Phania,  do  not  cling 

To  my  unwilling  breast  that  now  must  be 

A  hedge  of  swords  to  your  bird  bosom.    [Holds  her  tightly] 

Pha.  Oh! 

Cre.  Withdraw  your  hand,  proud  Spartan ! 

Ale.  I  will  protect 

My  sister,  sir,  from  any  lord  of  Athens ! 

Sac.  Look,  Pelagon, — and  Stesilaus, — here! 
Look  on  this  warbling  joy  hatched  tenderly 
In  nest  of  your  conceit,  which  you've  kept  warm 
Forgetting  you  had  hearts  where  love  bechid 
Sat  in  unfeathered  cold.     If  you  are  fathers, 
Drink  of  their  ecstasy  till  every  vein 
Applauds  it! 

Lys.  Pray  you,  peace !    The  Senators ! 

[Enter  Amentor  and  other  Senators] 

Ste.  What's  your  demand? 

Amen.  Your  life,  Lord  Stesilaus. 

And  that  of  Pelagon,  in  Athens'  name. 

Pel.  My  life? 

Amen.  Not  less  will  still  this  wind  and  save 
Our  homes  from  undefended  sack.     They've  seized 
The  citadel— 

Bia.  Then  on  my  armor!     Wife 

May  whistle  when  the  bugle  calls ! 

Amen.  Stay,  sir! 

The  Spartans  are  in  power,  and  any  check 
Means  slaughter.     There's  no  help.     The  Persian  fleet 
Has  sailed.     The  Athenians  drop  their  useless  arms 
And  follow  at  command,  knowing  no  way 
To  win  but  by  a  bloodless  yielding. 

Bia.  Yield! 

Amen.  Sir,  we  must  grant  the  Spartans  these  two  lives, 
Whereon  they'll  strike  no  further.     $o  they  swear. 


216  ASONOFHERMES 

Sao.  [  To  Pelagon]  This  is  your  downy  Peace  wooed  from 

the  clouds 

To  hover  over  Athens !     Save  the  name ! 
She's  from  a  briar-patch,  not  Heaven !     Her  wings 
Are  full  of  burrs ! 

Bia.  [Holding  Pelagon]  Stand  to !     A  scuttled  ship 
Has  no  choice  deck.     There's  nothing  to  be  saved 
But  dignity. 

Pel.  Nay,  that's  for  Stesilaus!     [Breaking  away] 
My  life,  my  life! 

[Noise  mounts  without.     The  wall  is  broken  through,  rear, 
and  the  breach  reveals  the  street  filled  with  angry  Spartans] 

Amen.  Peace! 

Gir.  Give  us  Stesilaus ! 

Voices.  And  Pelagon !     The  traitors !     Give  them  up ! 

Amen.  You  see  them.     There  they  stand. 
[Misses  Pelagon] 

Where's  Pelagon? 

Voices.  We  have  him  here !     Bring  Stesilaus ! 

Arc.  Hold! 

I  am  Archippe.     Let  me  speak. 

Voices.  No  mercy! 

Arc.  I  ask  none,  friends.     The  wife  of  Stesilaus 
Is  not  so  much  in  's  debt  she  owes  him  aught 
On  mercy's  score. 

Gir.  Then  speak. 

Arc.  Is  Philon  here? 

The  reverend  priest? 

Voices.  He  comes !     Make  way !     He's  here ! 
[Philon  comes  out] 

Philon.  Speak  first,  Archippe.     I'll  follow  you. 

Arc.  My  friends, 

I'm  such  a  one  as  you  do  most  contemn, — 
A  woman  disobedient  to  her  lord. 
But  if  you  judgment  give  upon  that  point, 


ASONOFHERMES  217 

Remember  that  my  lord  is  Stesilaus. 

When  this  my  daughter  here, — yes,  Pyrrha,  she, — 

Child  of  my  nurturing  blood, — 

Voices.  What?     What?     Your  child? 

Amen.  Silence!     Speak  on,  Archippe. 

Arc.  When  she  lay 

A  morsel  cradled,  two  months'  breath  in  her, 
Came  he,  the  father,  swearing  she  must  go 
To  Sachinessa's  breast,  and  I  must  take 
Her  Phania  to  my  own, — thereby  to  serve 
In  some  occulted  way  the  future  good 
Of  Greece.     And  all  the  mercy  won  from  him 
Was  leave  to  journey  with  my  child  to  Athens — 

Sac.  But  I  was  not  so  meek!     By  Pallas,  no! 
What — who — was  Pelagon,  to  rob  my  bosom 
Of  Hera's  gift?     Who  made  him  greater  than 
The  gods?     'Tis  but  a  girl,  he  said,  to  me, 
A  mother!     I  went  to  Philon  then,  the  priest 
Whom  Athens  honors,  and  by  holy  counsel, 
We  did  not  change  our  babes,  but  let  our  deed 
Wear  face  that  pleased  them,  with  a  heart  our  own, 
And  home  Archippe  went  with  Pyrrha  safe, 
While  I  in  Athens  held  my  Phania  close, 
And  they,  fond  sires,  who  knew  no  difference 
Between  a  girl  and  girl,  hugged  their  deep  plan 
And  built  the  phantom  of  united  Greece 
Upon  it. 

Arc.  If  those  ghostly  towers,  now  fallen^ 
May  rise  again,  it  is  our  act,  my  lords, 
Provides  them  nature's  base,  and  not  a  dream's. 
Condemn  us,  if  you  will,  as  erring  wives, 
But  as  true  mothers  give  us  softer  justice. 
And  if  there's  scale  or  balance  that  can  hold 
Such  torturous  weight,  lay  on  it  all  the  pain 
Of  lonely  years  that  saw  me  turn  my  face 


£18  ASONOFHERMES 

From  my  loved  daughter,  lest  this  man  of  rock 
Should  know  her  mine  and  his. 

Pyrr.  Your  own,  your  own, 

My  mother! 

Ste.  So  you  slip  me,  dame, 

And  Pyrrha  goes  with  you.     But  Biades 
Is  under  thumb  by  this  same  turn.     He  now 
Must  know  himself  a  Spartan,  and  shall  keep 
My  terms. 

Arc.  Make  them  full  easy.     You  shall  lay 
No  marring  hand  upon  our  children's  joy 
As  fell  on  mine. 

Bia.  O,  sue  for  me,  Archippe! 

Give  me  my  bride !     Whatever  be  her  race, 
Her  home  is  in  my  arms ! 

Arc.  Forgive  him,  Pyrrha. 

Not  for  his  pleading,  but  for  love  I  know 
You  bear  him. 

[Pyrrha  permits  Biades  to  embrace  her] 

Ale.  [To  Phania]  Sweet,  we  know  our  heaven  by 
Those  moments  in  a  hell. 

Amen.  Here's  feast  enough! 

Bia.  But  poor  old  Creon  in  this  rain  of  porridge 
Starves  for  a  spoon. 

Cre.  And  you,  perforce,  take  one 

Of  Spartan  make. 

Bia.  I'm  caught.     But  in  love's  lap. 
I'll  swallow  Sparta  for  so  dear  a  bed. 

Menas.  And  you  need  fear  no  distaff  tyranny, 
My  lord.     There  you  are  safe.     Although  your  bride 
Be  Hera-limbed,  you've  proved  yourself  her  Zeus 
In  open  match. 

Cre.  How  if  her  moved  heart 

Crept  to  her  arm  and  slipped  the  victory 
Unwon  to  love? 

[Biades  is  suddenly  embarrassed] 


ASONOFHERMES  219 

Pyrr.  [With  a  caress  of  assurance] 
If  that  were  so,  my  lords, 

My  pride  would  harbor  his,  and  none  should  know 
My  secret. 

Ste.  Senators,  and  men  of  Athens, 
Art  dumb  when  justice  waits  on  you  for  voice? 
What  censure  have  you  for  these  rebel  wives, 
And  this  unsainted  priest? 

Amen.  [To  Philon]  You  counselled  them 
To  their  deceit? 

Philon.  I  did. 

Amen.  You've  no  defence? 

Philon.  I  need  none. 

Ste.  Ha! 

Philon.  Whoso  reveres  the  gods 

Draws  of  their  strength  in  every  mortal  inch, 
And  in  this  act  I  did  them  reverence, 
Standing  between  their  wish  and  meddling  wits 
Of  these  presumptive  men.     But  pardon  them. 
For  it  is  shame  enough  to  Ve  thought  to  make 
A  frislet  of  their  own  shake  like  the  locks 
Of  cloud-haired  Zeus.     For  me,  my  hand  is  on 
My  altar,  and  I  fear  no  fall. 

Amen.  No  more, 

Good  Philon. 

Philon.  Ay,  a  word,     This  morning,  sir, 
I  blessed  the  couple  here,  knowing  them  free 
Of  kindred  blood, — Alcanor  and  his  Phania. 
The  strands  are  doubly  woven  that  now  bind 
Sparta  and  Athens.     Pyrrha  and  Biades 
Were  first  to  link  them  one,  and  now  this  pair 
Unites  them  o'er. 

Amen.  You  hear,  my  Spartan  friends. 

What  say  you?     Is  it  peace? 

Spartans.  Peace  be  to  Athens! 


220  A    SON    OF    HERMES 

Amen.  And  peace  to  Sparta!     Hearts  and  altars  guard 

it! 

Go,  citizens !     See  that  the  chariots 
Glow  with  new  garlands  for  this  double  bridal. 
And  let  the  noble  wives  of  these  proud  lords 
Co-queen  festivity.     All  shall  rejoice 
Save  this  convicted  pair, — you,  Pelagon, 
And  Stesilaus.     You  we  prison  here, 
Your  own  sole  company,  nor  shall  you  speak 
Save  in  a  rhyme  now  dim  with  little  use, 
But  shall  be  better  known  from  this  day  forth 
With  polish  you  shall  give  it.     Hear  it,  sirs: 

The  man  who  would  his  own  pie  bake 
Must  from  his  wife  ten  fingers  take. 


[Curtain  falls  and  rises.  Pelagon  and  Stesilaus  are  dis- 
covered, their  backs  to  each  other,  the  only  occupants  of 
the  garden.  Through  the  breach  in  the  wall  the  festal 
procession  is  seen  passing.  Curtain] 


KIDMIR 
A  PLAY  IN  FOUE  ACTS 


CHARACTERS 

OSWALD,  Earl  of  Clyffe 

BERTRAND,  sometime  VAIRDELAN,  his  son 

CHARILUS,  a  Greek 

ARDIA,  his  daughter 

BIONDEL  and  VIGARD,  sons  of  Charilus 

BANISSAT,  Prince  of  Avesta 

PRINCE  FREDERICK 

BERENICE,  his  daughter 

GAINA,  serving-woman  to  Ardia 

BARCA,  servant  to  Charilus 

RAMUNIN,  a  headsman 

SEVEN  MAIDENS,  friends  of  Ardia 

Followers  of  Banissat,  soldiers  of  Oswald,  nobles,  wedding- guests, 
dancers,  guards,  &c. 

TIME:  During  the  later  Crusades 

PLACE:   The  southern  coast  of  Asia  Minor 


ACT  I 

SCENE:  A  hall  in  the  castle  of  Charilus  on  the  heights  of 
Kidmir.  The  open  rear,  through  which  is  seen  a  sun- 
set sky,  leads  to  a  parapet  overlooking  the  city  of  Avesta 
and  the  coast  of  Suli.  Entrances  right  and  left  of  para- 
pet. Midway  down,  right,  the  door  to  a  chamber. 

Charilus  stands  on  parapet  and  looks  down  toward  Avesta. 
Barca  waits  within  the  hall. 

Char.  O,  sea-washed  city,  must  the  hail  of  fire 
Crimson  thy  milky  walls,  and  salt  winds  strive 
In  vain  to  sweeten  ditches  dark  with  blood 
From  thy  tapped  heart?     Come,  Barca,  be  my  eyes. 
Who  climbs  the  heights? 

[Barca  advances  and  looks  over] 
Barca.  Lords  Vigard  and  Biondel 
Are  on  the  pass. 

Char.  My  sons  so  soon  returned! 

No  other? 

Barca.  Farther  down,  my  lord,  I  see 
The  knight,  Sir  Vairdelan. 

Char.  Then  we  shall  hear 

His  sunset  song. 

Barca.  The  stairway  through  the  cliff 
Is  closed.     Shall  I  give  signal,  sir,  to  hoist 
The  upper  gate? 

Char.  That  is  my  charge  henceforth.  [Going  left\ 

They  will  be  hungered.     [Turns  to  Barca] 

Scant  the  board  in  nothing. 

[Exit  left] 

[Gaina  enters,  right,  rear,  carrying  a  tray  piled  with 
candles] 

223 


224  K  I  D  M  I  R 

Gaina.  Thank  goodness,  Barca,  you're  where  you're 
wanted  for  once!  Help  me  with  these  winkers.  [Giving 
him  candles]  My  mistress  kept  me  out  on  the  cliffs  when 
I  ought  to  'a'  been  inside  an  hour  ago  doing  my  honest 
work.  I  got  her  in  at  last,  but  I  had  to  be  round  with 
her,  poor  soul!  I  told  her  what! 

Barca.  [Placing  candles]  She  was  watching  for  her 
brothers? 

Gaina.  [Puts  tray  down]  Brothers!  It  was  a  sight  of 
that  singing  knight  she  wanted.  He  went  down  the  pass 
this  morning  and  she  has  gone  about  all  day  like  a  bird 
with  a  sore  throat. 

Barca.  God  gave  her  eyes,  and  Sir  Vairdelan  is  good  to 
see.  When  I  look  at  him  I  feel  somehow  as  if  the  sun 
were  just  up  and  everybody  had  another  chance. 

Gaina.  A  man  who  lets  his  sword  rust  at  home  while 
he  goes  about  tootle-de-rooling  on  a  flute !  And  she  could 
be  the  princess  of  Avesta  if  she'd  look  in  the  right  place. 
Well,  if  she  had  my  eyes! 

Barca.  What!  You  would  have  your  mistress  marry 
Banissat?  An  unbeliever? 

Gaina.  A  prince  is  a  prince, — and  I'd  say  the  same  if 
my  mistress  were  my  own  daughter. 

Barca.  And  you  a  Christian! 

Gaina.  A  Christian  of  Corinth,  I'd  have  you  know. 
There  are  Christians  and  Christians,  please  you!  And 
for  my  mistress,  dear  heart,  it  would  take  more  than 
marrying  a  prince  to  send  her  to — to 

Barca.  Let  it  out. 

Gaina.  Hell,  then, — if  you  want  to  bite  ginger.  And 
who  but  Banissat  can  stand  between  her  father  and  that 
English  Oswald — who  is  just  plain  devil  and  not  an  Eng- 
lishman at  all — 

Barca.  Devil?  A  knight  of  the  Cross  leading  the  army 
of  the  Lord  to  Jerusalem. 


K  I  D  M  I  R  225 

Gaina.  Nobody  but  the  devil,  I  tell  you!  And  I 
wouldn't  speak  to  him  if  I  met  him  walking  with  Saint 
Peter,  unless  he  showed  me  his  bare  feet  with  ten  good 
toes  on  'em.  It  might  be  all  right  for  Peter,  but  a  woman 
can't  be  too  careful,  and  the  master  took  me  out  of  a  good 
family  in  Corinth.  And  this  Vairdelan  who  is  no  more  a 
knight  than  I'm  a  lady — the  next  time  he  goes  down  the 
pass  he  will  lose  his  way  up  again,  or  my  head's  a  goose- 
egg,  that's  all! 

Barca.  Gently,  Gaina.     You  were  young  once. 

Gaina.  Once?  I've  more  hairs  than  wrinkles  yet,  which 
some  can't  say  and  tell  the  truth! 

Barca.  Tongue  in!    Here's  the  master.     [Moves  right] 

Gaina.  My  candles! 

[Seizes  tray  and  goes  out,  right,  as  Charilus  re-enters  left] 

Char.  [To  Barca]  Look  to  the  supper. 

[Exit  Barca,  right.     Charilus  crosses  to  parapet  and  looks 
down] 

Doubt-blown  city,  rest. 

Sleep  on  my  heart.     You  shall  not  bleed  for  me. 
[Enter  Ardia  from  chamber  midway  right] 

Ard.  Alone,  my  father? 

Char.  Never  alone,  and  yet 

My  wish  was  calling  thee.  [Sits,  and  draws  her  beside  him] 

Ard.  Ah,  not  one  guard 

About  thee? 

Char.  The  only  guard  is  always  near, — 
A  fearless  heart. 

Ard.  Then  I  have  none.     My  heart 

Is  made  of  fears. 

Char.  No  charm  but  love  will  lift 

Our  gates  of  rock. 

Ard.                   But  who  knows  love  from  hate 
In  days  like  these?     Some  foe  with  friendship's  eyes, 
Some  secret  knife  of  Oswald's 


226  K  I  D  M  I R 

Char.  None  may  tread 

The  guarded  pass  save  our  knight  Vairdelan 
And  your  two  brothers. 

Ard.  Vairdelan  is  late. 

Why  went  he  down? 

Char.  Knights  true  as  he,  my  girl, 
Are  never  questioned. 

Ard.  [Starting]  Who  are  at  the  gates? 

Char.  Your  brothers  come. 

Ard.  So  soon?     That  means  good  news 

From  Banissat.     He'll  be  your  strength  against 
This  mighty  Oswald. 

Char.  Fair  his  word  may  be, 

But  I  go  down  the  pass. 

Ard.  Go  down?    To  meet 

That  fiend? 

Char.  The  man  who  calls  himself  my  foe, 
But  named  of  God  my  brother. 

Ard.  O,  too  much 

Thou  lovest  love!     A  fiend,  I  say! 

Char.  That  name 

Give  unto  me  when  I  consent  to  piece 
This  spun-out  life  with  breath  of  babes  and  gasp 
Of  dying  mothers.     Would  you  feed  these  veins, 
Gelid  and  old,  all  golden  venture  done, 
With  the  warm  waste  of  youth  whose  saved  stream 
Might  bear  mankind  unto  the  port  of  gods? 

Ard.  But  you — you  are  my  father ! 

Char.  It  is  such  cries 

Unsettle  justice  till  her  shaken  scales 
Weigh  nations  'gainst  a  heart. 

Ard.  Must  I  not  love  you? 

Char.  My  Ardia,  fair  as  though  thou  wert  not  mine, 
Or  wert  all  hers  who  made  gray  Corinth  young, 
The  love  that  feeds  behind  a  sheltered  door 


KIDMIR  227 

Must  be  unroofed  and  take  its  bread  of  stars 
Ere  it  may  answer  to  its  holy  name. 
The  heart  must  build  no  walls 

Ard.  I  build  them  not, 

But  find  them  risen  about  me.     You  are  here, 
Guardful  and  best,  fending  my  eyes, — there  stands 
My  Biondel, — there  Vigard  brave, — and  there.  .  .  . 

Char.  And  there,  my  daughter? 

Ard.  Hark!     'Tis  Vairdelan's  voice! 

[Singing  heard  below] 

O  fires  that  build  upon  the  sea 
Till  wave  and  foam  of  ye  are  part, 

And  burn  in  mated  ecstasy, 

Ye  build  again  within  my  heart. 

O  clouds  that  breathe  in  flame  and  run 

In  linked  dreams  along  the  sky 
In  me  the  fire  is  never  done, 

Though  Eve's  gray  hand  soon  puts  ye  by. 

Christ  be  my  Hand  of  Eve  upon 

The  flame  that  tireless,  fadeless  leaps!. 

Haste  holily,  O  Mary's  moon, 

With  dew  for  fire  that  never  sleeps! 

[Ardia  keeps  a  listening  attitude,  not  heeding  the  entrance 
of  her  brothers  who  come  on  left] 

Char.  Well,  sons? 

Bion.  Ay,  well!    That  is  the  word  we  bring. 
Avesta's  prince,  the  gracious  Banissat, 
Is  now  your  sworn  defender. 

Ard.  [Turning]  And  asks  no  price? 

Bion.  No  more  than  your  fair  self,  my  sister. 

Vig.  [As  Ardia  stands  silent]  You  doubt? 

'Tis  true.     He'll  make  you  princess! 


228  K  I  D  M  I  R 

Ard.  He  is  old 

Bion.  What  call  you  old?    He's  in  the  fairest  top 
Of  manhood. 

Vig.  Old! 

Ard.          And  cannot  sing.  .  .  . 

Vig.  Not  sing! 

Ard.  What  need  have  we  of  him?     Can  Oswald  scale 
These  rock-barred  heights? 

Vig.  Starvation  can. 

Ard.  We've  food 

Will  last  three  harvest  moons. 

Bion.  And  Oswald  camps 

Where  plain  and  sea  will  feed  ten  thousand  men 
As  many  years. 

Vig.  While  here  our  skeletons 
With  bleached  grin  may  watch  the  feast  below ! 

Ard.  To  starve  ...  is  that  so  terrible?     'Tis  but 
One  way  of  dying. 

Vig.  Dying? 

Char.  Say  no  more. 

The  morrow's  dawn  shall  light  my  way  to  Oswald. 

Bion.  You'll  go  to  him?     Then  death! 

Vig.  [To  Ardia]  See  what  you  do? 

Ard.  Forgive  me.     [Runs  to  her  father  and  clings  to  him] 
Now !     Bind  me  to  Banissat. 

Char.  Nay,  thou  art  free. 

Bion.  [To  Ardia]  Our  lives  shall  thank  you. 

Vig.  Thanks? 

You  speak  her  part. 

[Ardia  leaves  her  father  and  moves  to  edge  of  parapet] 

Bion.  [Folloioing  her]  Dost  know  a  better  way? 

Ard.  I  pray  you,  leave  me. 

Vig.  Princess  of  Avesta! 

Ard.  Your  supper  waits. 

Vig.  [Starting  right]  Come,  brother! 


K  I  D  M  I  R  229 

Char.  Though  I've  supped, 

I'll  sit  with  you,  my  sons.     Discourse  is  ever 
The  best  dish  at  the  board. 

Bion.  We  thank  you,  sir. . 

[Exeunt  Biondel,  Vigard,  Charilus,  right] 

Ard.  And  am  I  wooed  and  won?     Dreams  of  a  dream, 

Where  are  ye  now? A  lover  with  no  song. 

No  carols  stealing  sweetness  from  the  moon; 
No  trembling  hand  to  drop  a  morning  rose 
Where  I  may  walk. 

[Takes  a  rose  from  her  bosom  and  casts  it  away] 
No  rose  ....  no  Vairdelan! 
[Re-enter  Gaina] 

Gaina.  Here,  mistress?     Dearie  dear,  a- weeping? 

Ard.  No. 

Gaina.  Say  you  were,  'twere  a  better  sight  than  this 
fetching  of  dry  sighs.  They  'most  take  the  skin  of  a  woe 
that  a  little  tear-water  would  bring  up  easy  enough. 

Ard.  O,  Gaina,  Gaina,  did  you  see  my  mother  buried? 

Gaina.  Ay,  'twas  a  sweet  grave  we  laid  her  in  over  in 
Corinth.  You'll  never  make  as  pretty  a  corpse,  my  dear. 

Ard.  Was  I  there? 

Gaina.  Troth,  you  were,  and  trouble  enough  you  gave 
me.  You  wanted  to  climb  into  the  coffin  and  go  to  sleep 
too,  you  said. 

Ard.  O,  had  you  buried  me  with  her  I  should  not  have 
seen  this  day! 

Gaina.  Most  like  you  wouldn't.  Come,  honey  dove, 
come  to  your  room  and  brighten  yourself  a  bit.  There's 
the  new  veil  just  begging  to  be  looked  at.  I'll  put  it  on 
you,  and— 

Ard.  No,  I  don't  want  you.     [Going,  right] 

Gaina.  O,  ho,  I  can  read  his  name  you  do  want,  and 
not  kill  a  bird  for  it  either. 

Ard.  [Turning]  Who,  magpie?     Who? 


230  K  I  D  M  I R 

Gaina.  Your  eyes  may  save  my  tongue  if  they  squint 
sou'west. 

Ard.  Is  he  coming? 

Gaina.  Who,  my  cuckoo?     Who? 

[Bertrand  enters  left.     Ardia  starts  off  right] 

Ber.  Ardia! 

Ard.  [Weakly,  pausing  at  her  door]  Vairdelan.  .  .  . 

Ber.  Will  not  you  stay? 

Ard.  I  will  return.     [Exit] 

Ber.  Your  mistress  is  not  well? 

Gaina.  You've  eyes,  sir. 

Ber.  This  fear  of  Oswald 

Gaina.  Her  trouble's  nearer  home,  sir. 

Ber.  Her  father 

Gaina.  Nay,  it  wears  no  beard,  though  it  may  in  time. 

Ber.  What  troubles  her,  dear  Gaina? 

Gaina.  A  man,  my  lord. 

Ber.  A  man! 

Gaina.  There,  don't  feel  for  your  sword,  for  that's  at 
home,  and  I  never  heard  yet  of  spitting  a  man  with  a 
flute,  though  it  may  e'en  go  to  the  heart  of  a  woman  if 
she  be  young  and  soft  like  my  mistress. 

Ber.  The  truth,  Gaina! 

Gaina.  I  can  spare  it,  sir.  My  master's  daughter  is  so 
in  love  with  you 

Ber.  Angels  do  not  love! 

Gaina.  That  may  be.  I'm  speaking  of  my  mistress, 
"Magpie!"  Not  meaning  you,  sir. 

Ber.  She  can  not  love  me! 

Gaina.  That's  what  I  said — at  first.  A  roaming  creat- 
ure with  only  his  cloak  for  shelter,  though  it's  a  good 
gentleman's  weave,  I'll  allow,  and  I  know  you'll  go  away 
before  her  poor  heart  gets  too  heavy  for  carrying.  It's 
nigh  that  now,  and  before  you  came  it  was  so  light  she 
was  tripping  and  chirping  till  I  could  'a'  sworn  she  had  no 


K I  D  M  I R  231 

heart  at  all — just  toes  and  wings.  And  now,  dear  soul, — 
but  you'll  go,  sir?  You  know  you'd  have  to  hunt  the 
door  soon  enough  if  her  brothers  got  a  breath  of  what's 
between  you. 

Ber.  There's  nothing  between  us ! 

Gaina.  A  bat  could  see  it  by  daylight.     It's  been  in 
your  eyes  all  the  time. 

Ber.  I  never  meant  it! 

Gaina.  Shame  to  you  then.     You'll  go,  sir? 

Ber.  Yes,  yes,  yes! 

Gaina.  Here's  my  lady.     Now  don't  tell  her  you're 
going.     Just  go. 

Ber.  Just  ...  go. 

Gaina.  [At  right]  Ay,  you've  got  it. 

[Exit  Gaina  as  Ardia  re-enters] 

Ard.  My  brothers  are  at  supper.     Will  you  join  them, 
Or  do  you  fast? 

Ber.  I  fast. 

Ard.  A  stern  religion 

Is  yours,  my  friend. 

Ber.  I've  chosen  it.     Ardia, 

You  know  me  for  a  knight. 

Ard.  [Softly]  Who  wears  no  sword. 

Ber.  But  in  the  English  isle  where  I  was  born, 
I  was  a  monk  .  .  .  and  true.     True  am  I  now, 
Save  that  my  cell  is  what  men  call  the  world. 

Ard.  Spare  speech  and  me.     I  know  the  rest. 

Ber.  Your  prayers 

Then  be  my  bond  that  Christ  may  search  my  heart 
And  find  no  part  not  his. 

Ard.  No  prayer  of  mine 

Shall  fetter  youth  to  bloodless  vows.     And  you 
Look  not  as  one  faith-leeched  of  life.     Your  cheek 
Is  sudden  gray,  not  changeless  pale.     'Tis  hued 
Like  rebel  morning  pushing  back  a  dawn 


232  K  I  D  M  I  R 

Too  eager  for  its  peace.     A  monk.     Our  ways 
Part  as  our  souls.     Know  you  I  am  to  wed 
Prince  Banissat?     So  dumb? 

My  father  comes! 

[Meets  Charilus  re-entering  and  leads  him  to  a  seat] 
Our  guest  was  telling  me  of  English  days. 
Now  you  change  tongue  with  him  and  speak  the  tale 
You  promised  yester  night.     Why  does  this  Oswald, 
This  war-mad  lord  of  England,  on  his  way 
To  free  the  holy  tomb,  forget  his  path 
And  turn  his  army's  strength  against  a  man 
No  greater  than  thyself? 

Char.  Yes,  you  shall  know. 

Ard.  At  last! 

Char.  For  morning  parts  us. 

Ard.  Oh!     Not  that! 

Ber.  Shall  I  go  in,  my  lord? 

Char.  Nay,  Vairdelan. 

I'd  have  thee  hear.     Thou  thinkest  me  a  man 
Of  holy  heart. 

Ard.  Ah,  who  does  not? 

Char.  There's  one 

Has  cause  for  doubt.     'Twas  I  who  slew  in  rage 
Earl  Oswald's  father. 

Ard.  You?    These  hands? 

Char.  These  hands, 

Ber.  I've  heard  'twas  so. 

Ard.  You've  heard? 

Char.  'Tis  thirty  years 

Since  Oswald,  with  his  father,  John  of  Clyffe, 
Marched  in  Red  Giles'  crusade.     You  know  of  that? 

Ber.  My  grandsire  captained  there. 

Char.  I  served  not  Christ, 

At  least  as  they,  with  pillage,  fire  and  rape, 
But  there  were  some  among  the  English  youths 


K I  D  M  I R  233 

Who  took  my  heart,  and  Oswald  was  my  choice 
Of  all  who  camped  before  the  holy  gates. 

Ard.  That  man! 

Char.  I,  too,  was  young  ....  and  I  was  wed. 

Not  to  my  Ardia's  mother,  but  to  her 
Whose  heart  yet  boldly  beats  in  my  two  sons. 
In  her  strange  beauty  John  of  Clyffe  found  death. 
He  sought  her,  and  I  slew  him.     When  his  blood 
Ran  at  my  feet,  I  fled, — not  from  the  swords 
Hot  on  my  path,  but  from  that  stream  of  blood. 

Ard.  Dear,  dear  my  father !     'Twas  a  world  ago ! 

Char.  I  was  not  of  the  many  who  can  kill 
And  laugh  again,  nor  yet  of  hermit-heart, 
But  for  myself  had  made  a  gentle  god 
Whom  my  soul  served. 

Ber.  I  know,  my  lord,  that  sweet 

Idolatry,  and  dream  what  thou  didst  suffer 
So  shaken  from  it. 

Char.  Far  as  man  knows  the  world 

I  fled  the  scarlet  stream  that  followed  me, 
And  on  the  skyward  slope  of  Himalay, 
Between  the  white  of  snows  and  blue  of  heaven, 
Saw  it  no  more. 

Ard.  [Kissing  his  hands]  O,  white,  forgiven  hands! 

Char.  There,  near  to  God  as  man  may  come  nor  lose 
The  body's  mould,  I  saw  in  solvent  thought 
That  knows  not  time,  a  sinless  star, — this  earth 
That  shall  be.     Back  unto  my  world  I  came, 
And  that  my  dream  might  live  I  lived  my  dream, 
Servant  to  love  even  where  the  slaves  of  hate 
Whet  sword  and  knife. 

Ard.  O,  true! 

Ber.  Tis  sung  of  thee! 

Char.  Now  am  I  old,  but  love  does  not  deny  me 
One  service  more.     To-morrow  I  shall  go 
To  die  at  Oswald's  feet 


234  K  I  D  M  I R 

Ber.  [Eagerly]  You  will  go  down? 

Ard.  No,  no!  He  shall  not  go!    Prince  Banissat 
Will  save  him !     He  has  promised ! 

Ber.  [Gazing  at  Ardia]  Banissat? 
So  'twas  a  bargain.     Thou  'rt  fair  goods  to  be 
On  th'  vender's  table.     [Turns  to  Charilus] 

You  choose  well,  my  lord. 

Ard.  What  words! 

Ber.  I  bring  a  message  from  th'  earl. 

Ard.  From  Oswald?  [Shrinking]  You  know  him? 

Ber.  If  any  man 

May  know  him, — but  I  better  know  his  son. 

Ard.  The  vicious  Bertrand? 

Ber.  Vicious? 

Ard.  O,  so  foul 

He  shuns  the  day,  and  walks  on  moonless  nights 
Most  like  his  soul! 

Ber.  You  speak  of  Bertrand? 

Ard.  Ay ! 

More  wolfish  than  his  father, — beast  whose  sword 
Should  be  his  body's  part  as  tigers  wear 
Their  claws  from  birth! 

Ber.  A  bold  delusion  this ! 

Char.  She  speaks  untempered  rumor.     Slander,  sir, 
Is  out  of  breath  with  sporting  Bertrand's  name, 
And  giveth  way  to  winds  that  blow  it  past 
Belief's  last  border. 

Ard.  Slander? 

Ber.  What  will  shake 

These  fancies  from  your  heart? 

Ard.  A  miracle. 

Naught  less. 

Ber.          Hard  terms.     [Turns  to  Charilus] 

I  know  this  Bertrand  well. 
If  any  happy  merit  in  myself 


K I  D  M  I R  235 

Has  won  your  love,  bestow  the  same  on  him. 
What  I  may  share  is  his. 

Char.  Here's  living  hope! 

Ber.  He,  like  myself,  was  cloister-bred,  and  passed 
Peaceful,  uncounted  days  until  the  death 
Of  his  three  brothers,  slain  in  one  mad  hour. 
Earl  Oswald  then  bethought  him  of  the  son 
So  early  given  to  Christ.     "  I  have  no  heir," 
He  said,  "but  God  lacks  not  for  monks.'*    And  straight 
With  power  and  gold  bought  full  release  for  Bertrand, 
Save  that  release  his  soul  and  God  might  give. 

Char.  You  make  me  love  his  story. 

Ber.  True  to  peace 

Even  in  the  camp  of  war,  he  lives  withdrawn, 
And  so  gives  Rumor  sweep  for  what  she  would, 
While  in  her  swollen  report  the  earl  conceals 
His  monkish  son's  true  nature. 

Char.  I'll  know  this  youth! 

Ber.  He  keeps  his  tent  by  day,  and  steals  at  night 
To  forest  glens,  his  armor  but  a  cloak, 
His  sword  a  flute 

Ard.  O,  light  from  Heaven! 

Ber.  Sometimes 

He  farther  goes,  even  far  as  Kidmir  heights, 
And  at  the  feet  of  Charilus  he  learns 
A  love  more  true  than  fane  and  cloister  taught, — 
The  love  that  made  the  houseless,  barefoot  Christ, 
With  open  breast  to  all  unbrothered  woe, — 
And  now  he  kneels  and  of  that  gentlest  love 
Asks  pardon. 

Char.  Bertrand,  son  of  Oswald,  rise. 
There's  no  forgiving  in  the  sinless  star. 

Ber.  [Rising,  to  Ardia]  And  you? 

Ard.  Ah  .     .  when  I've  breath! 


236  K  I  D  M  I  R 

Ber.  What  I  have  said, 

My  lord,  makes  way  for  what  is  yet  to  say. 
To-day  I  waited  by  A  vesta's  gate 
For  this  [taking  out  paper]  my  father's  word,  response  to 

mine 
Sent  days  ago  to  him.     Here,  sir,  he  says:     [Reads] 

"Son  of  my  hope,  your  words  are  not  more  strange  to 
me  than  these  I  write  with  my  own  hand.  If  Charilus 
will  come  to  Suli  Castle,  the  which  my  swords  have  taken 
while  you  sang  and  slept,  my  door  shall  open  to  him  as 
Kidmir  gates  have  opened  unto  you.  By  Christ,  I  swear 
the  treatment  that  he  gave  my  blood  he  shall  have  again 
from  me.  But  if  he  come  not  down,  then  shall  I  reach 
him  through  Avesta's  heart,  and  the  love  he  now  spurns 
will  be  cold  in  my  sword.  Despatch  this,  I  pray  you, 
for  I  would  hasten  to  Jerusalem,  leaving  you  my  con- 
quered princedom,  whose  head  is  lion  and  whose  ^foot 
is  the  city  of  Ramoor.  Thine  as  thy  heart  speaks, 
Oswald." 

Char.  Your  father's  hand? 

Ber.  Doubt  flies  from  it,  although 

The  vein  is  alien,  sir.     It  is  his  hand, 
And,  I  do  think,  his  heart,  wherein,  my  lord, 
Your  gentleness  to  me,  like  creeping  rain, 
Has  moistened  love's  dry  root,  whose  pent-up  bloom 
Is  by  that  nurture  freed,  and  magical 
Now  glows  before  us. 

Char.  This  I  would  believe. 

[Starts  off  right] 

Vigard  and  Biondel  must  have  this  news 
From  my  slow  lips,  lest  with  the  sudden  truth 
They  strike  ablaze.     They  have  their  mother's  fire. 
Albanian  Gartha  was  not  one  to  die 
And  leave  her  sons  no  part  in  her  wild  race.     [Exit] 

Ber.  You  are  not  Gartha's  daughter? 


K I  D  M  I  R  237 

Ard.  No,  my  lord. 

Claris  of  Corinth  bore  me,  and  my  flame 
Is  joy,  not  anger.     O,  this  miracle 
You've  wrought  for  me! 

Ber.  I  wrought? 

Ard.  'Tis  no  less  strange 

When  God  through  his  bare  tool  reveals  his  hand, 
Than  when  invisible  his  power  stirs 
And  makes  a  chasm  in  sense.     So  when  you  stood 
Before  me,  Bertrand's  self,  with  yet  the  voice, 
The  eyes,  the  heart  of  Vairdelan,  I  knew 
That  was  my  miracle.     O  Heaven-sign 
At  which  my  world  grew  blithe  and  shook  May-boughs 
With  birds  in  every  branch! 

Ber.  You've  no  more  fear 

For  Charilus? 

Ard.  None,  none. 

Nor  for  myself. 

Ber.  Yourself? 

Ard.  O,  seems  no  soul  need  trouble  now 

In  this  vast  world! 

[Re-enter  Charilus  and  sons] 

Bion.  You  are  not  Vairdelan? 

Vig.  You're  Bertrand,  Oswald's  son? 

Ber.  'Tis  true. 

Vig.  That  truth 

Should  cut  your  throat,  and  I  could  lend  my  sword 
For  such  a  matter. 

Bion.  Come!     What  knightly  plea 

Coats  this  deceit  with  honor? 

Ber.  None,  my  lord. 

If  I've  made  trespass  deeper  than  your  love 
Will  bear  me  out,  my  hope  is  in  your  pardon. 

Bion.  A  lie  made  you  our  guest,  and  guest  you  are 
Until  we  meet  on  Suli  plain. 


238  KIDMIR 

Char.  My  son! 

Ard.  Call  you  that  pardon,  Biondel? 

Bion.  I  speak 

No  pardon. 

Ard.  But  you  shall — you  must.     O,  say  it! 
You  know  our  father  goes  to  Oswald. 

Vig.  Know 

That  fools  and  women  talk !     The  gates  are  sealed. 

Bion.  I'll  guard  the  pass  against  my  father's  self 
If  so  much  rudeness  may  make  stand  between 
His  death  and  life. 

Char.  My  sons,  I  thank  your  love, 
But  I  go  down.     The  guards,  the  gates  are  mine, 
And  to  my  will  they  open. 

Vig.  'Tis  that  girl, 

That  silvery  Greek 

Char.  If  your  quick  blood  must  stir, 

Let  manners  grace  it. 

Ard.  O,  my  dearest  brothers, 

Do  you  not  love  me? 

Bion.  Better  than  you  know. 

We  love  you,  serve  you,  though  yourself  obstruct 
The  way  to  safety. 

Vig.  You  would  trust  the  man 

Who  wrapped  him  in  a  lie  to  enter  here? 
Sat  at  our  father's  board  and  brake  his  bread 
To  feed  an  enemy? 

Ber.  The  bread  I  brake 

Fed  friendship's  heart  in  me,  and  made  this  roof 
A  temple.     Do  you  not  know  me,  Vigard? 

Vig.  Nay, 

I  knew  a  Vairdelan — you  are  not  he. 

Bion.  If  Oswald  means  no  harm  to  Charilus, 
Let  him  pass  on.     Jerusalem  awaits 
His  savage  sword. 


K I D  M  I R  239 

Char.  My  son,  that  Oswald  thus 
Compels  me  to  him  is  to  me  but  proof 
That  hearts  may  greet  above  long  years  of  hate. 
In  this  I  see  Love  beckoning  Man  across 
The  wastrel  lands  of  war  to  fields  unwet 
With  blood,  to  days— 

Vig.  Unhearted  cowards  then! 
Praise  Allah,  we  yet  live  where  rapiers  thresh 
The  fields  of  men  and  leave  the  bravest  standing! 
Is  't  not  the  Prophet's  word  that  Paradise 
Lies  'neath  the  shade  of  swords? 

Char.                                          Allah  be  yours ! 
But  I  would  walk  beneath  unrisen  stars, 
Beyond  hate's  eyeless  clouds 

Bion.  O,  spare  us,  sir! 

Each  day  brings  its  own  sun,  and  by  that  light, 
No  other,  men  must  walk.     If  this  our  time 
Be  dark  to  you,  'tis  in  your  vision,  not 
In  the  lit  heavens,  from  whose  shoreless  depth 
No  hook  of  prayer  or  prophecy  may  draw 
One  star  before  its  hour.     Pray  you  be  done 
With  this  moon  madness.     Banissat  will  meet 
The  force  of  Oswald.     With  the  morn  he  comes 
To  seal  his  troth  with  Ardia 

Char.  By  no  word 

Of  mine.     If  you  have  given  him  pledge,  your  honor 
Shall  dip  to  dust  and  drudge  your  forfeit  out, 
Ere  virgin  bondage  pay  it.     Hark,  Biondel, 
And  hear  me,  Vigard!     I  alone  shall  meet 
Earl  Oswald.     If  the  blood  I  shed  yet  cries 
For  blood,  here  are  the  veins  shall  make  it  dumb. 

Bion.  But,  sir, 

Char.  No  more.     Your  sister  stays  with  you. 

Regard  her  will,  nor  ope  these  doors  unbidden 
To  Banissat. 


240  KID  MIR 

Ard.  I  stay?     O,  never  think 
I  shall  not  go  with  thee! 

Char.  You  go? 

Ard.                                            I'm  safe 
With  thee,  my  father.     Here 

Vig.  Here  you  have  brothers ! 

Ard.  I  mean  no  slight  upon  you,  but  my  fate 
Keeps  with  my  father. 

Char.  I  should  doubt  the  God 

Who  bids  me  go  if  I  denied  you  this. 
Thyself  art  Peace,  and  where  thou  goest  moves 
Her  radiance.     Make  you  ready.     And  good-night,  all ! 
Sir  Bertrand,  know  the  sleep  that  fits  the  heart 
For  journeying.     [Exit  right,  rear] 

Vig.  [To  Ardia]  There's  one  will  stop  your  way — 
Prince  Banissat! 

Bion.  We'll  send  him  word  this  hour, 
For  while  the  edge  be  on  his  sudden  love 
He'll  thank  us  to  be  swift. 

Ber.  You  loved  me  once, 

My  lords. 

Bion.  True,  son  of  Oswald. 

Ber.  Though  you  used 

Some  bitter  words,  I  know  your  inmost  heart 
Holds  me  a  man  undoubted.     There  I'm  stamped 
In  honor's  verity;  and  when  I  vow, 
By  my  soul's  faith,  that  Charilus  is  safe, 
You  know  'tis  truth. 

Bion.  Be  you  our  father's  hostage, 

If  this  mad  thing  must  be.     Stay  you  with  us, 
And  we  are  silent. 

Ard.  Stay?    You  ask  too  much. 

Vig.  No  fear,  soft  sister.     Mark  him.     We're  refused. 
He'll  stuff  the  air  with  words,  not  clear  it  with 
One  pinch  of  proof. 


K  I  D  M  I  R  241 

Ber.  My  lords,  were  I  to  stay, 

'Twould  make  an  act  of  faith  lose  point  and  purpose, 
And  blazon  doubt  before  my  father's  face. 

Vig.  You  mark? 

Ber.  'T would  louder  cry  of  war;  uproot 

Love's  seedling  in  its  tenderest  hour,  and  make 
Once  more  the  bane  and  night-weed  spring.     But  hear 
An  oath  of  mine.     If  Charilus  meet  harm 
In  Oswald's  camp,  I  shall  return  and  ask 
The  same  stroke  from  your  hands. 

A rd.  O,  do  not  swear! 

Ber.  By  every  hope  I  have  to  enter  Heaven, 
By  the  right  hand  of  God,  by  this  white  cross 
That  knew  my  mother's  last,  death-holy  kiss, 
By  every  sacred  thing  I  know  and  love, 
If  Charilus  comes  up  these  heights  no  more, 
Here  shall  I  lay  my  life  beneath  your  sword. 
[Barca  re-enters  right] 

Barca.  [To  Bertrand]  The  master  asks  a  word  with  you, 

my  lord. 
[Exit  Bertrand  with  Barca] 

Ard.  Will  you  accept  his  oath? 

Vig.  Go  to  your  room. 

Bion.  We'll  talk  alone. 

Ard.  Nay,  hear  me  first.     You  think 

To  force  me  to  the  arms  of  Banissat. 
Give  over  that  wild  thought. 

Bion.  'Twas  not  so  wild 

An  hour  ago. 

Ard.  Fate  lifts  the  hand  that  laid 

Compulsion  on  me.     I  am  free.     O,  free! 
No  strait  of  life  or  death  can  make  me  less 
Than  mistress  of  myself. 

Bion.  Our  destiny 

Is  bound  with  Banissat.     Make  him  our  foe, 
And  where  shall  we  find  peace?     Not  on  these  peaks. 


242  K  I  D  M  I  R 

Ard.  Is  he  our  jailer  then?     This  Banissat? 
Our  prison  his  good  favor?     Nay,  the  "world 
Has  many  roads,  and  courage  even  yet 
May  blaze  a  new  one. 

Bion.  Rooted  life  is  best. 

I  am  not  one  to  make  my  bed  on  winds, 
Or  stroll  the  earth  for  fortune's  grudged  scraps 
Snatched  from  a  rapier's  point. 

Ard.  Know  this.     My  hand 

Shall  never  lie  in  Banissat's.     Give  up 
A  hope  so  barren.     There's  better  pasturage 
For  wits  so  bold  as  yours.     Now  Oswald  holds 
The  breadth  of  Suli  plain,  the  heights  of  Tor, 
Winged  by  the  sea  from  lion  to  Ramoor — 
A  principality  whose  circuit  leaves 
Avesta  as  a  fly  pinned  to  a  wall. 

Vig.  What's  Oswald's  fief  to  us?     We  are  no  sons  of  his. 

Ard.  Lord  Bertrand  holds  the  princedom  here 
While  Oswald  goes  to  wars  in  Palestine. 

Bion.  He  told  you  this? 

Ard.  Did  you  not  read  as  much 

In  Oswald's  letter?     There  'twas  plainly  said. 

Bion.  Still  is  our  surest  hope  with  Banissat. 

Ard.  When  Bertrand  is  your  friend?     O,  more  than 

friend ! 
A  brother! 

Bion.  Ah do  you  say  "brother"? 

Ard.  True 

As  though  he  had  been  born  our  father's  son! 

Bion.  [To  Vigard]  You  hear? 

Vig.  With  more  than  ears. 

Bion.  We  have  been  blind. 

Vig.  A  brother! 

Bion.  All  is  clear  enough,  now  that 

We've  eyes  for  it.     Your  pardon,  sister. 


K  J  D  M  I  B  243 

Ard.  Pardon? 

Bion.  Pray  you!     We  thought  your  scorn  of  Banissat 
Marked  you  of  creeping  spirit,  when  your  aim 
Shot  o'er  our  lowered  eyes. 

Vig.  Ay,  she  has  sped 

Before  our  boldest  care  of  her,  and  left 
Our  duty  lurching. 

Ard.  These  are  drunken  words. 

Vig.  If  you  would  wed  Lord  Bertrand, 

Ard.  O,  you  think 

Bion.  Your  hope  has  shown  its  wing.     Best  bid  it  fly. 

Vig.  Speak  without  fear.     This  changes  all. 

Ard.  You  mean 

You'll  not  delay  us?     You  will  let  us  go? 

Vig.  And  speed  you  too !    High  stroke,  this  anxious  hour 
To  journey  in  his  care ! 

Bion.  Yet  shielded  by 

Our  father's  dignity. 

Ard.  How  you  mistake! 

He  does  not  woo  me ! 

Vig.  Now  the  modest  foot ! 

But  we  have  seen  the  other.     Trust  us,  sister. 

Bion.  Mistake?     I  now  recall  his  looks,  his  sighs, 
As  from  a  love  immured, — his  songs,  too  warm 
For  piety's  cool  breath, — and  more  that  tends 
To  happy  proof. 

Vig.  How  dare  he  woo  thee  when 

Mere  Vairdelan?    This  blade  had  stood  between! 

Bion.  Such  beggar  suit  would  then  have  cheapened  thee 
Beneath  a  prince's  wearing.     [Leading  her  to  doort  right] 

No  drooping  now! 
The  way  lies  clear. 

Ard.  O,  brother 

Bion.  Get  you  in. 

Ard.  Will  you  not  listen? 


244  K  I  D  M  I  R 

Bion.  Leave  your  hope  with  us, 

Your  secret  is  our  own.     [Closes  door  upon  her] 

Vig.  Here's  change  of  sky. 

You  trust  Lord  Bertrand? 

Bion.  That  is  now  our  course. 

Our  father  will  go  down. 

Vig.  What's  in  your  heart? 

I'll  open  mine. 

Bion.  I  beg  you  do. 

Vig.  Ramoor 

And  lion  now  are  crownless.     Suli's  prince 
Must  have  new  governors. 

Bion.  But  Christian  ones. 

That  bars  our  way. 

Vig.  The  Prophet's  cloak  fits  well 

With  any  fortune. 

Bion.  Ah 

Vig.  We've  but  to  change 

The  color,  not  the  cut. 

Bion.  [Listening]  He  comes! 

Vig.  We'll  speak. 

Bion.  Not  yet,  my  Vigard.     Let  this  fruiting  hope 
Swell  to  a  golden  fall.     Wait  with  the  sun. 
No  green  and  forward  plucking. 

[Re-enter  Ardia] 

Ard.  Hear  me,  brothers 

Bion.  Not  now.     The  prince! 

[Re-enter  Bertrand,  right] 

Ber.  I  pray  your  answer,  friends. 

Let  us  go  down  unhindered,  and  my  oath 
I  leave  with  you,  a  hostage  sure  as  though 
With  iron  bonds  you  held  my  breathing  form ; 
For  in  that  oath  I  leave  no  treasure  less 
Than  honor,  knighthood,  and  what  in  me  moves 
Deathless  to  God. 


K  I  D  M  I  R  245 

Bion.  It  is  enough.     Our  guest 

Is  free. 

Ber.  Once  more  my  brothers! 

Bion.  Know  us  ever 

By  that  dear  name. 

Vig.  And  this  deep  oath  you  take 

For  Charilus'  sake,  is  sworn  too  for  our  sister? 

Ber.  For  Ardia?     No,  my  lord. 

Vig.  Do  you  say  no? 

Ber.  I  must  so  answer  you.     For  the  fell  harm 
That  touches  her  would  of  myself  make  end. 
My  honor  so  impeached  would  cease  to  breathe 
The  air  itself  made  foul.     I  could  not  come 
Having  no  life  to  bring  me. 

Bion.  We  believe  you. 

Go  with  our  father.     Take  our  sister  too. 
And  we  upon  these  heights  shall  pray,  as  you 
On  Suli  plain,  that  Charilus  may  see 
His  sons  again. 

Ber.  Come,  let  him  know !     This  wished 
Obedience  will  give  him  sleep. 

[Exeunt  Bertrand,  Vigard,  and  Biondel,  right  rear] 

Ard.                                       Is  't  best 
That  Truth  be  dumb?     I'll  watch  this  weaving  Fate, 
And  feed  her  web  with  silence Oh,  with  hope! 

[Curtain] 


ACT  II 

SCENE  1.  A  hall  in  the  castle  of  Suli.  Heavy  doors  open  left, 
half-way  up.  Large  window  with  iron  grating,  rear. 
Couches,  chairs,  scattered.  Tables  from  which  servants 
are  removing  the  remnants  of  a  feast.  They  are  quar- 
relling, chaffing,  singing,  as  the  curtain  rises. 

First  Ser.  Shifty,  there! 

Second  Ser.  What,  can't  a  soldier  eat? 

First  Ser.  You  a  soldier,  lickspoon? 

Second  Ser.  I've  drawn  a  sword,  sir! 

First  Ser.  Ay,  and  cut  a  cheese. 

Third  Ser.  [Lifting  flask]  Here's  to 

Fourth  Ser.  [Seizing  flask]  No  man  shall  guzzle  my  mas- 
ter's wine  before  me.  [Drains  vessel] 

Third  Ser.  [Sadly,  turning  up  empty  flask]  Not  after  you, 
either. 

Fifth  Ser.  Well,  well,  and  two  moons  back  we  were 
saying  grace  over  ditch-water! 

Sixth  Ser.  Ay,  we  were  good  Christians  then.  A  full 
stomach  makes  lean  prayers.  Now  we've  such  a  plenty 
we  can  spare  the  devil  a  fillip,  and  never  a  grace  for  it. 

First  Ser.  [Tugging  at  table]  Take  a  leg  there!  This  is 
no  grasshopper.  [Others  help  him  move  table  to  wall,  right] 
Look  about  you!  The  maskers  will  be  in  here. 

Second  Ser.  Here?  They'll  be  everywhere  to-night. 
Such  a  jig-making  over  the  new  prince! 

Second  Ser.  Not  a  corner  to  drop  into  and  sleep  off  a 
good  supper  with  a  clear  conscience! 

Sixth  Ser.  Sleep?  What  have  we  to  do  with  sleep?  We 
fight,  we  eat,  we  dance.  That's  my  soldier! 

246 


K  I  D  M  I  R  247 

Second  Ser.  We  kill,  we  cut,  we  caper!     [Sings] 
The  soldier  rides  on  Fortune's  wheel, 

All.  Round  we  go, 

Round  we  go ! 

Second  Ser.  Now  up  the  head  and  now  the  heel, 

All.  Round  we  go, 

Round 

[Enter  seventh  servant] 

Seventh  Ser.  Quiet,  you  devils!    The  master's  coming. 

Second  Ser.  What,  can't  a  soldier  sing?  Haven't  we 
fought  like  true  men?  When  did  we  give  quarter?  When 
did  we  show  mercy?  And  now  can't  we  be  happy?  Can't 
we  take  breath? 

Seventh  Ser.  Sh!  and  I'll  tell  you  what  I've  seen.  I've 
seen  the  daughter  of  Old  Wisdom. 

Sixth  Ser.  He  get  a  daughter! 

Seventh  Ser.  The  maid  of  Kidmir.  Ardia  of  the  Stars 
they  call  her,  but  if  the  sun  could  shine  in  the  middle  of 
a  dark  night  she  would  be  like  that. 

First  Ser.  Foh,  the  Lady  Berenice  will  put  out  her  can- 
dle. 

Seventh  Ser.  The  Lady  Berenice  is  as  like  her  as  the 
back  of  my  hand  to  Juno's  cheek! 

First  Ser.  A  heathen  comparison!  There's  a  Christian 
blow  for  it! 

[They  scuffle.     Enter  Oswald  in  talk  with  Bertrand.     Ser- 
vants finish  their  work  quietly  and  go  out] 

Osw.  My  heart  is  whole  again,  now  you've  escaped 
The  claws  of  Kidmir. 

Ber.  Say  the  arms  that  closed 

Like  God's  around  me! 

Osw.  Fox,  and  lion  too. 

That's  Charilus.     I  knew  him  young, — when  blood 
Tells  nature's  truth, — ere  he  had  sucked 
Philosophy's  pale  milk  and  made  his  truce 


248  K  I  D  M  I  R 

With  prudence  and  long  life.     The  heart  then  his 
He  carries  now 

Ber.  Then,  sir,  you  must  have  known 

The  Maker's  marvel, — youth  that  outstripped  age 
And  grayest  saints  in  virtue. 

Osw.                                      Tut!     No  matter. 
You're  safe.     And  he  is  here within  these  walls. 

Ber.  A  guest  of  faith  who  holds  your  honor  bound 
High  hostage  for  his  life. 

Osw.  My  honor?     Trust  me! 

I'll  care  for  that.     No  more  I'll  blush  to  lift 
My  shield  i'  the  sun.     The  spot  of  thirty  years 
Shall  be  wiped  out. 

Ber.  With  love,  my  father? 

Osw.  [After  a  pause]  Ay, 

JTis  love  shall  do  it. 

Ber.  [Lifting  his  father's  hand  to  his  lips] 
You  bind  my  heart  to  you. 

Osw.  Too  soft,  my  warrior.     Keep  such  woman's  play 
For  Berenice.     She  will  thank  you  for  it. 
I'm  rough  and  old,  and  need  the  soldier  clap 
To  start  the  singing  blood.     [Clapping  Bertrand] 

A  blow  with  good 
Red  heart  in  't! 

Ber.  Berenice? 

Osw.  Ah,  that  takes  you! 

She's  here  at  last.     Prince  Frederick  arrived 
Three  days  ago,  and  with  him  his  fair  daughter, 
Too  dear  of  value  to  be  left  behind, 
The  prey  of  quarrelling  kings.     You'll  dance  with  her 
To-night. 

Ber.  You'll  pardon  me.     I  shall  not  dance. 

Osw.  Faugh,  there's  the  monk  again!     Why,  boy,  we'll 

pray 
The  better  for  a  little  tripping, — fight 


K  I  D  M  I  R  249 

The  better  too.     One  dance  with  Berenice! 
A  beauty,  sir,  who  makes  me  hate  the  years 
That  lie  'tween  youth  and  me.     She  was  to  wed 
A  son  of  mine  by  vow  above  her  cradle, 
And  I  have  buried  every  son  save  you. 

Ber.  May  I  not  keep  one  vow? 

Osw.  The  pope  long  since 

Released  you.     Now — 

Ber.  My  compact  was  with  Christ. 

Osw.  Why  cling  to  one  when  all  the  rest  are  broken? 

Ber.  It  is  the  one  lies  wholly  in  my  choice. 

Osw.  You  left  your  cell. 

Ber.  Do  you  forget  'twas  you 

Who  shook  to  ground  my  cloister  walls,  and  locked 
All  holy  doors  against  me? 

Osw.  True,  I  did  it. 

And  with  good  warrant.     Broadest  Christendom 
Upheld  my  right  and  gave  me  back  my  heir. 
Small  gain  if  you  refuse  to  wed.     My  need 
Is  not  for  sons  but  grandsons  now.     My  boy, 
You'll  let  me  see  your  children  at  my  knee? 
Ho,  hide  your  face?     Then  there's  a  heart  in  you. 
Why  should  I  toil  through  blood  and  groans  and  fire 
To  make  a  name  my  shroud  will  wrap  with  me? 

Ber.  Toil  then  to  give  this  land  to  God,  and  live 
So  long  as  love  shall  live  in  men. 

Osw.  Pale  fame! 

Have  you  no  blood  of  mine?     How  could  my  fire 
Father  this  sluggish  monk?     There  was  a  maid 
On  Kidmir,  Charilus'  daughter,  who  has  come 
In  wag  of  him,  which  speaks  a  fearless  wench, — 
She  taught  you  nothing  in  those  moons  you  passed 
Upon  her  peaks? 

Ber.  Sir? 


250  K I  D  M  I R 

Osw.                        When  I  saw  her  face 
Flash  from  her  veil,  I  could  have  sworn 
Your  vow  was  drowned  in  her  lake-eyes,  and  that 
Her  captured  softness  had  made  easy  way 
For  royal  Berenice.     Now  you  talk 
Out  of  your  cowl 

Ber.  Not  so !     I  am  a  knight ! 

Your  words  have  made  me  one !     Now  could  I  draw 
This  sword  that  knows  not  blood 

Osw.  I'll  bout  with  thee 

For  any  woman.     Come !     Thou'lt  be  a  man 
Ere  long.     Come,  sir! 

Ber.  You've  set  a  foot  most  foul 

Upon  the  flower  of  time! 

Osw.  It  seems  I've  hit 

The  mark  i'  the  very  eye. 

Ber.  The  whitest  thought 

That  holds  her  first  must  shrive  itself! 

Osw.  So,  so! 

Come,  end  the  song.     She's  yours.     'Tis  not  the  moon 
You  cry  for,  take  an  old  man's  word. 

Ber.  The  moon 

Were  nearer  to  me! 

Osw.  Trrr-rrr-rr ! 

Ber.  My  lord? 

Osw.  A  woman.     Ask  and  have.     I'll  send  her  here. 
This  is  the  hour  to  bait  you,  and  I'd  not  lose  it 
For  half  of  Suli. 

Ber.  Stay !     I  will  not  see  her. 

I  dare  not  look  upon  her  lest  I  lose 
Christ  and  myself. 

Osw.  Are  you  so  tuned?    We'll  have 

A  wedding  yet. 

Ber.  Forget  that  word,  and  I 
Forgive  you  for  it. 


K  I  D  M  I  R  251 

Osw.  A  wedding,  prince  of  Suli. 

This  plain  shall  ring  to  Antioch. 

Ber.  Nay,  father, — 

And  yet  I  thank  you  that  your  heart  would  make 
So  fair  a  maid  my  bride. 

Osw.                              Fair?     That's  no  word. 
She's  glory's  darling  pearl, — the  morning's  eye 
That  makes  the  night  forgot !  When  you  have  seen  her 

Ber.  When  I  have  seen  her? 

Osw.  Ay, 

Ber.  Do  you  not  speak 

Of  Ardia? 

Osw.  Ardia!     Gods!     Wed  Kidmir's  trull? 
Make  me  a  doting  grandsire  to  the  heir 
Of  Charilus?     Hear  it,  stars!     Am  I  the  fool 
O'  the  earth?     Give  up  my  English  forests,  bare 
My  purse  for  troops,  and  foot  by  foot  fight  way 
To  Suli  sands, — all  this  that  I  may  set 
A  droning  dotard's  line  upon  a  throne, 
And  be  the  ass  of  chronicle?     O,  poison! 
Well,  well,  I'm  done.     The  girl  is  fair  enough. 
And  you  shall  have  her  if  she  pleases  you. 
But  Berenice — there's  your  bride,  my  boy! 

Ber.  Wed  Berenice?     With  that  name  you  save  me. 
By  that  I  see  the  darkness  coiling  deep 
Along  my  bridal  way.     'Twas  Ardia's  name 
That  lit  the  path  till  I  dared  let  my  eyes, 
Though  not  my  will,  go  venturing  on  't. 

Osw.  My  son, 

Ber.  Never  again,  my  father,  speak  to  me 
In  this  night's  strain.     Till  morning  I  shall  pray. 
And  then  I  fast.     Good-night. 

Osw.  One  moment.     One! 

The  sunrise  feast?     Will  you  not  be  with  us? 
I  drink  with  Charilus  the  cup  of  peace. 


K  I  D  M  I  R 

Ber.  And  love  that  breaks  no  peace? 

Osw.  [Assenting]  See  how  you  bend  me? 
All  that  you  ask  I  give,  but  you  to  me 
Yield  nothing. 

Ber.  Sir,  this  sword,  my  knightly  suit, 
And  princely  title,  make  denial  for  me. 

Osw.  Your  pardon.     I  forget  you  count  it  much 
To  give  a  crust  and  cell  for  this  broad  kingdom. 
I  who  have  paid  my  heart  out  for  a  crown 
Must  thank  you  now  to  wear  it. 

Ber.  Good-night. 

Osw.  O,  son, 

Have  you  no  patience  with  a  man  grown  old 
In  many  battles?     Now  feel  I  my  age, 
Knowing  the  dearest  blows  of  my  long  life 
Have  bought  me  but  this  shadow.     In  you  is  drained 
Ambition's  heart, — my  every  burning  aim 
Fails  here  in  you,  and  cools  unforged,  unshapen. 
Yet  do  you  turn  from  me  as  though  'twere  I 
Not  you  who  gave  the  wound  that  parts  us. 

Ber.  I? 

Osw.  Of  all  my  sons  I  loved  you  best.     You  think 
I  gave  you  to  the  friars  with  no  twinge 
Here  at  my  heart?     Your  mother  said  "One  son 
We  must  return  to  God,"  and  I  said  "Yea, 
So  it  be  not  my  Bertrand."     But  her  will 
Ran  'gainst  me.     When  she  had  her  way,  I  longed 
Through  many  a  day  to  have  you  at  my  side, 
While  you  were  happy  with  your  songs  and  saints, 
Your  father  quite  forgot. 

Ber.  [Stirred]  Nay,  not  forgot. 
And  I  am  with  you  now. 

Osw.                              O,  let  me  feel 
My  son  is  mine!     I'll  yield  you  anything. 
Ay,  even  Ardia!     She  shall  be  my  daughter 


K  I  D  M  I  R  253 

Ber.  By  heaven  that  keeps  me  true,  I  will  not  hear 
That  name  again !     There's  maddest  music  in  it. 
I  see  her  when  I  hear  it.     [Covering  his  eyes] 

Osw.  [Aside}  I  see  the  lime 

Will  catch  you. 

Ber.  Again,  good-night. 

Osw.  One  favor,  son. 

And  slight  too,  by  'r  lady ! 

Ber.  Speak  it,  sir. 

Osw.  I  gave  my  word  you'd  wait  on  Berenice. 
I'  faith,  I  know  not  what  excuse  to  make 
To  Frederick.     'Tis  barest  courtesy 
To  give  her  greeting. 

Ber.  I  will  welcome  her, 

Our  guest. 

Osw.  Enough!  [Going]  You'll  wait  us  here? 

Ber.  I'll  wait. 

[Exit  Oswald.  Bertrand  sits  with  head  bowed  and  does 
not  heed  maskers  who  enter  and  dance  about  him. 
They  cover  him  with  their  garlands  as  they  go  off.  A 
song  is  heard  within] 

What  save  winds  shall  kiss  his  bones 
Bleaching  on  the  desert  stones? 
What  but  waves  o'er  him  shall  sigh 
Who  doth  drowned  sea-deep  lie? 
What  save  worms  to  him  shall  come 
Locked  in  earth,  bound,  keyless,  dumb? 

Wild  the  wind  and  cold  the  wave, 
Sharp  the  tooth  within  the  grave! 
Be  such  kisses  for  my  ghost, 
Heart,  my  Heart,  when  thou  art  lost! 
Love  me,  Love,  an  hour  and  we 
Mock  the  cold  eternity! 


254  K  I  D  M  I  R 

Ber.  [Taking  up  a  flower]  Eternity  in  this? 
[Ardia  enters.     He  does  not  see  her  until  she  speaks] 

Ard.  Prince  Bertrand? 

Ber.  [Rising]  You? 

Not  Berenice ! 

Ard.    Ah  ....  you  wait  for  her? 

Ber.  Who  brought  you  here? 

Ard.  The  earl.     Your  father. 

Ber.  He! 

What  said  he? 

Ard.  That  you  prayed  to  see  me,  sir. 

Ber.  O,  faithless !  He  deceived  you. 

Ard.  I  will  go. 

Ber.  Stay — tell  me — how  you  fare. 

Ard.  Nay,  you  await 

The  princess. 

Ber.  You've  all  comfort?  No  least  lack? 

Ard.  I've  food  and  bed,  but  little  company. 

Ber.  My  father's  plans  press  hard,  and  I'm  a  part 
Of  them.     Each  hour  he  calls  me. 

Ard.  I  know,  my  lord, 

This  is  not  Kidmir.     I've  my  father  too. 
You've  yours and  Berenice. 

Ber.  Nay,  it  seems 

Fate  hath  her  changelings.     You  have  come,  not  she. 

Ard.  I  sought  no  meeting,  sir,  but  being  here, 
I'll  ask  you  of  my  father.     Is  he  safe? 
Earl  Oswald  means  no  treachery  to  his  guest? 

Ber.  At  sunrise  he  will  drink  the  cup  of  peace. 

Ard.  That's  hours  away !     He  knows  your  life  is  pledged 
For  Charilus'  safety? 

Ber.  No.     I  will  not  wake 

A  doubt  against  his  honor. 

Ard.  He  should  know. 

I've  seen  his  eyes.     Good  hap,  you  have  your  mother's. 


K  I  D  M  I  R  255 

Ber.  If  he  be  vile  as  you  so  fear  he  is, 
My  pledge  would  be  no  leash  to  his  bold  will. 
He'd  chain  me  here  till  he  destroyed  your  brothers. 
Let  him  know  naught,  I'm  free  to  keep  my  oath. 
But  this  should  not  be  spoken.     We  do  wrong 
To  talk  of  things  that  have  no  being  save 
In  our  own  midnight  fears. 

Ard.  Well,  I  shall  sleep. 

Good-night,  my  lord. 

Ber.  Am  I  not  Vairdelan? 

Ard.  Ay,  when  you  smile  so. 

[Holds  out  her  hands,  and  drops  them  untouched] 
Far,  O  far  from  Kidmir! 

Ber.  Yea,  an  eternal  journey  my  lost  soul 
May  find  it.     Ardia,  counsel  me.     Two  ways 
Stretch  long  before  me,  and  I  faint 
In  daring  either.     Give  me  of  your  strength. 

Ard.  My  strength?     I  have  none. 

Ber.  You  have  God's. 

Men,  proud  in  valor,  stray  and  lose  his  hand; 
The  woman  holds  it  ever,  walking  floods 
And  trampling  fire  where  men  go  down. 

Ard.  Tell  me! 

How  may  I  help  you? 

Ber.  Sit  then.     I  will  speak. 

[She  sits;  he  stands  near  her} 
I  have  agreed  to  be  the  sovereign 
Of  sword- won  Suli. 

Ard.  None  will  better  serve 

Where  he  is  master.     O,  this  spear-torn  land 
Shall  flower  to  heaven  and  mate  her  bloom  with  stars! 

Ber.  A  bloom  that  dies  with  me? 

Ard.  Death  cannot  make 

The  spirit  barren. 


256  K  I  D  M  I  R 

Ber.  [At  distance]  Through  me  my  father  hopes 
To  found  a  princely  house  o'er-topping  Asia 
With  Christ-lit  towers. 

Ard.  Oh!  ....  Then  you  will  wed. 

Ber.  [His  eyes  down]  My  bride  is  chosen. 

Ard.  [Rising]  Chosen?  [Sits  again] 

Nay   ....   I  know   .... 

Ber.  [Returning]  Your  hidden  eyes  hide  not  the  loathing 

there 

For  me  forsworn.     Why  have  I  troubled  you? 
Look  on  me,  Ardia.     I  am  not  yet  fallen. 
I  take  your  answer.     You  have  chosen  my  way, 
And  I  set  forth  upon  it — not  forsworn. 

Ard.  That  word  is  naught.     I  do  not  think  of  it. 

Ber.  Must  man  not  keep  his  pledge? 

Ard.  To  mortals,  yes. 

For  so  our  lives  are  knit,  and  part  to  part 
Keep  sound  and  whole.     But  pledges  unto  God 
Man  cannot  make  or  keep  till  he  may  bind 
The  Will  that  journeys  with  the  launched  world. 
So  might  His  rivers  say  "Here  will  we  rest, 
And  worship  thee,"  nor  run  into  the  sea, 
And  God  must  be  content  though  all  his  fields 
Burn  waterless.     So  might  the  winds  vow  Him 
Unbroken  calm,  and  God  who  needs  his  storms 
Must  still  his  own  desire  while  his  dear  earth 
Goes  pestilent. 

Ber.  Unsentient  things!     He  shares 
His  will  with  man. 

Ard.  But  not  to  enslave  his  own. 
Christ  seals  no  bond  the  lips  lay  on  the  soul 
That  is  each  instant  new  as  life,  as  change, 
As  the  importuning  world.     Ah,  he  who  sells 
To  one  hour's  narrow  need  the  zenith  light 
Of  unborn  days  would  snuff  out  time  and  know 


K  I  D  M  I  R  257 

No  rising  sun.     Himself  would  be  a  slavedom 
Where  never  Christ  would  walk. 

Ber.  Is  't  Ardia  speaks? 

Ard.  Truth  speaks,  not  I.     If  man  must  vow, 
Let  it  not  be  to  love  no  woman, — wear 
The  vest  of  fire,  and  in  a  sunless  cell 
Chain  Heaven-arteried  life, — then  peering  out, 
Cling  to  the  nested  eaves  transfixed  to  see 
His  fled  desires  wear  the  horizon  flame. 
But  let  him  vow  his  Christ  shall  shrink  no  vein 
Of  broad  and  pauseless  being;  ay, — shall  keep 
Sweet  surgence  with  his  blood,  climb  with  his  spirit 
Time's  lifting  hills,  and  hold  in  watch  with  him 
The  unshrouding  pinnacles  where  love  puts  off 
The  old  clouds  for  the  dawn.     Forsworn?     O,  heart 
Cell-bound,  thy  very  vows  deny  thy  Christ. 
Who  serve  him  wear  no  chains. 

Ber.  You  think  me  true? 

And  yet  I  felt  your  wounded,  doubting  eyes 
Raining  me  scorn.     Why  was  it,  Ardia? 

Ard.  Scorn? 

I  have  forgot  why  'twas — or  shall  forget. 

Ber.  And  there  was  pity  too,  that  dropped  your  lids, 
And  would  have  sheltered  me.     Is  that  forgot? 

Ard.  Nay,  that I'll  tell  you  that.     I  thought 

of  Love, 

Man's  angel,  and  the  heart-lone  way  of  him 
Who  missed  and  found  her  not.     Never  to  take 
More  courage  from  the  fall  of  her  sure  feet 
On  heights  that  wind  between  death  and  the  stars; 
Or  where  his  road  burns  through  the  shadeless  sands, 
Reach  for  the  hand  with  fountains  in  its  touch 
And  feel  the  palm-breath  round  him.     Not  to  know 
Her  eyes  when  night  is  come,  and  there's  no  star; 
Her  breast,  that  pillowing  the  darkened  waste, 


258  K  I  D  M  I R 

Keeps  warm  the  bitten  earth  and  gives  him  dream 

To  meet  and  match  the  dawn.     So  wept  my  thoughts, 

Forgetting  that  you  are  no  wanderer, 

But  kingly  housed  will  rule  a  tamed  realm. 

Or  should  a  harvest  come  of  spears,  not  grain, 

Yet  is  your  princess  brave  and  beautiful, 

And  bears,  may  be,  a  mating  heart.     Love  then 

Will  come  to  you 

Ber.  My  princess? 

Ard.  Berenice. 

Your  father's  choice and  yours. 

Ber.  My  Ardia!     Mine! 

Could  such  a  lie  creep  to  your  soul  and  find 
No  lances  at  the  door?     [Kneels,  kissing  her  hands] 

My  love,  my  love,  my  love! 
Let  honors  fail,  and  stars  forget  my  name, 
'Tis  thou  shalt  walk  beside  me,  thou  my  chosen! 
I'll  hear  thy  footfall  on  the  winter  steep, 
And  take  thy  hand  where  desert  noons  are  white, 
But  close  thy  breast  shall  lie  upon  my  heart, 
Nor  pillow  the  bitten  waste,  my  own,  my  own! 

[She  moves  from  him.    He  rises] 
Why  are  you  silent,  pale,  and  heaven-still? 

Ard.  I  must  be  still.      I've  mourned  my  heart-walls 

thin. 

This  joy  will  break  them.     Joy  to  hear  your  voice 
With  love's  mate-music  in  it  cry  to  me. 
My  3°y'     I'll  drink  it  all,  nor  lose  one  drop, 
For  I  shall  have  no  more. 

Ber.  No  more?     No  less 

Than  life  can  hold! 

Ard.  Hear  me,  my  lord. 

Ber.  You  love  me! 

Ard.  I  shall  not  be  your  wife. 

Ber.  You're  mine — all  mine! 


K  I  D  M  I  R  259 

Ard.  You  hold  your  vow  yet  sacred,  breaking  it 
By  the  sole  might  of  love.     You  do  not  feel 
The  vision  round  you  in  whose  light  that  vow 
Falls  like  a  grave-cloth  from  an  angel's  limbs. 
Ah,  Christ  would  be  no  bridal  guest  of  ours, 
Shut  out  by  your  heart's  fear. 

[He  stands  as  if  stricken] 
You  see  'tis  true. 

You  listen  for  his  sanction,  and  you  hear 
The  ring  of  your  own  vow. 

[He  sits  bowed] 
You  hear  it  now 

Above  your  passion's  chime.     'Twill  fill  the  air 
When  love's  mad  bells  grow  quiet,  and  your  soul 
Asks  the  old  question.     Let  me  then  be  far 
From  thee,  nor  stay  to  be  a  clasped  fire 
Eating  thy  side. 

Ber.  You'll  heal  me  of  my  fear. 

[Reaching  his  hands  to  her] 
My  fountain  and  my  palm! 

Ard.  Your  doubt  would  stir 

Beneath  your  tenderest  deep.     My  nearing  step 
Would  as  a  trumpet  start  its  buried  storm 
To  sweep  our  meeting  eyes. 

Ber.  If  Christ  would  give 

A  sign, — leave  me  no  choice, — no  other  way 

Ard.  The  torch  of  Fate  but  blinds  us  when  the  heart 
Beareth  no  light. 

Ber.  Not  Fate,  but  Heaven — there 

I'd  read  my  sign. 

Ard.  Hope  not,  my  lord,  that  Heaven 

Will  drive  me  to  your  arms.     Farewell. 

Ber.  No,  no! 

To  keep  you  I'll  dare  hell 


260  K  I  D  M  I  R 

A rd.  Dare  hell?     My  love 

Walks  not  that  fiery  verge,  but  waits  thine  own 
In  regions  nearer  God.     There  we  shall  meet, 
And  there  will  be  no  hell. 

[Turns  to  go,  but  is  drawn  back  by  his  grief] 

Thou  art  a  prince 

Of  Christ.     Arise  and  rule  this  land  for  him. 
There  is  no  sin  in  you.     You've  kissed  my  hands, 
And  they  are  bright  as  stars! 

Ber.  O,  can  you  go? 

You  do  not  love  me.     In  your  breast  are  wings — 
No  heart,  but  wings  that  seek  the  mountain  sky. 
Go  perch  above  me,  leave  me  dying  here. 
And  cool  your  bosom  with  a  virgin  song 
To  mateless  heaven! 

Ard.  Who  is  cruel  now? 

You  have  the  world  to  feed  on,  need  not  eat 
Your  heart  as  I  must — I,  the  woman.     Dear, 
Where  Kidmir  cliffs  climb  highest  to  the  sky 
I'll  keep  my  watch,  but  thou  shalt  rise  above  me 
In  thought  of  men.     O'er  all  discerning  shall 
Thy  purpose  wing,  perhaps  be  drunk  of  clouds, 
But  light  shall  follow  where  thine  aim  has  sped, 
And  leading  upward  with  your  comrade  world, 
My  Kidmir  shall  seem  lowly,  where  I  walk 
With  stintless  ache  beneath  the  cedar  boughs 
On  pain's  moon  nights.     And  oh,  the  Springs  to  pass, 
When  each  bride-bud  shall  be  a  wound  to  me, 
When  grasses  young,  and  softly  pushing  moss, 
Shall  urge  my  feet  like  fire,  and  I  must  stand 
Quite  still    .    .    .    quite  still    .    .    .    with  all  my  unborn 

babes 
Dead  in  my  heart. 

Ber.  [Motionless]  You  dare  not  leave  me  now. 
You  dare  not,  Ardia. 


K  I  D  M  I  R  261 

Ard.  I  dare  not  stay. 

[As  she  nears  the  great  doors  they  rumble  shut  and  are 
noisily  barred  without] 

Ard.  Ho!     Open,  open,  open!     I  pray  you,  open! 

[Beats  on  door,  then  leans  to  the  silence] 
Shut  in  ...  shut  in !     So  Oswald's  treachery 
Begins  with  me.     My  father,  we  are  lost. 
You  are  to  die,  and  I — to-morrow,  oh, 
My  honor  will  go  wasting  on  the  fields 
With  every  soldier's  breath!     You  hear,  my  lord? 
We  are  shut  in  ... 

Ber.  The  miracle! 

Ard.  Together.  .  . 

Ber.  The  sign!  the  sign! 

Ard.  For  all  the  night.  .  . 

Ber.  For  all 

Eternity!     There  is  no  other  way. 
I  take  you  as  from  Christ.     My  bride,  my  bride! 

[Curtain] 


SCENE  2.  The  same.  Gray  of  morning  seen  through  grating 
of  window,  rear,  where  Bertrand  stands  looking  out  and 
upward.  Ardia  is  sleeping  on  a  couch.  The  dawn- 
light  wakes  her  and  she  starts  up. 

Ard.  'Tis  morning.     Bertrand!     You  have  watched  all 
night? 

Ber.  0,  there  has  been  no  night. 

Ard.  I  slept  it  through. 

Ber.  Thy  body  slept,  but  thou  hast  been  with  me 
O'er  all  the  world,  and  farther  than  the  world, 
Out  where  the  life  begins. 

Ard.  That  may  be  true, 

For  I  had  wondrous  dreams. 


262  K I  D  M I R 

Ber.  You  speak  of  dreams? 

A  magic  touched  me,  and  I  woke  from  dream 
Knowing  my  life.     What  ways  we  went !    All  things 
Seemed  new,  warm  with  the  Maker's  hand,  as  young 
As  our  own  eyes,  but  'twas  eternity 
That  kept  them  sweet,  unaging. 

Ard.  It  was  Love 

Who  gave  thee  eyes  to  see  the  world  immortal 
Even  in  our  own. 

Ber.  Do  all  Love's  votaries 

Walk  with  such  magic  sight? 

Ard.  In  truth!     I've  seen 

A  beggar  woman  tread  the  road-side  dust 
As  it  were  showered  gold,  because  she  had 
Love's  eyes.     And  we — what  joys  our  joy  shall  find! 
The  pearling  skies  with  rose-breath  drinking  ours 
'Tween  sea  and  dawn!     The  leaves  that  turn  i'  the  wind 
And  tremble  in  our  hearts — the  brook-song  that 
Began  beyond  the  stars — the  woodland  nests, 
Breast-warm 

Ber.  And  one  is  ours. 

Ard.  The  lark  that  leaves 

His  meadow-mate  and  reels  at  the  sun's  door 
Dropping  his  song  of  fire  and  clover-dew 
Down  to  her  heart. 

Ber.   [Kissing  her]  As  this  in  thine ! 

Ard.                                                      And  all 
Life's  dearer-veined  joys, — the  way-side  hands 
That  pluck  to  camp-fire  glow, — the  smile  of  age, 
Gift-sweet  and  wise  beside  the  garner  door 

Ber.  Ay,  dear  are  these  ....  but  when  we  came  again 
From  that  far,  holy  place  .... 

Ard.  Ah,  in  your  dream. 

Ber.  Where  no  words  go  or  come  .... 

Ard.  When  we  came  back? 


K I  D  M  I  R  263 

Ber.  Walking  the  light  between  the  parted  stars, 

And  met  the  days  that  knew  us naught  could 

hide 

The  eternal  joy  within  it.     'Twas  a  world 
Whose  beauty  lay  allwheres.     O,  not  alone 
In  morning  skies  and  mated  larks  a-wing! 
Each  rag-hung  thing  was  dipped  in  chosen  time 
And  wore  its  royal  hour. 

Ard.  If  that  could  be! 

Ber.  What  seers,  what  eyes  of  light,  outshone  the  pain 
That  gave  them  being!    Tears  that  silvered  graves 
Globed  in  their  pearl  the  immortal  hope  of  men, 
And  seemed  as  beautiful  as  prophecy 
Burning  in  its  own  truth.     Ay,  where  a  man 
Fell  murdered,  crying  "I  forgive,"  the  ground 
Sprang  as  a  garden 

Ard.  Murdered?     O,  not  that! 
How  could  you  say  it?     I  had  forgot,  forgot! 
Love  in  your  dream  looked  you  quite  through  the  soul 
Of  Time  on  things  to  be?     What  saw  you  then? 
Ah,  tell  me! 

Ber.          Then?  .  .  Then  came  this  dimmer  light 
Which  you  called  morning,  and  I  saw  no  more. 

Ard.  I  would  I  knew! 

Ber.  You  fear  even  now? 

Ard.  O,  me! 

Ber.  Sweet,  leave  these  shadows — dreams  of  ancient 

night 

That  cling  too  late  upon  a  day-warm  world. 
Must  I  persuade  you  still  that  Oswald  means 
Our  happiness? 

Ard.  Hark  you !    They  come,  my  lord. 

Ber.  The  sunrise  feast.     Fit  place  and  time  to  break 
The  fast  of  love. 

Ard.  O,  hear!     So  many  feet! 


264  K  I  D  M  I  R 

Ber.  Dear  trembler,  do  not  fear. 

Ard.  They're  here,  my  lord. 

Ber.  Welcome  the  world.     It  has  no  eye  can  make 
Our  own  seek  earth.     . 

[Doors  open.  Enter  Frederick,  Oswald,  Charilus,  Bere- 
nice, with  lords  and  ladies  attending.  Servants  follow 
bearing  trays,  and  lay  the  table.  Ardia  hastens  to  her 
father  and  they  talk  apart.  Oswald  advances  to  Ber- 
trand,  right,  the  others  lingering  left] 

Osw.  I  am  forgiven? 

Ber.  Forgiven ! 

Ask  God  and  Love !     I'll  thank  you  all  my  life 
That  you  did  force  me  take  my  only  way 
To  Heaven. 

Osw.  Hmm !     And  I  spent  a  bitter  night 
Fearing  your  morning  face. 

Ber.  It  was  my  soul's 

Birth-night. 

Osw.  God  bless  me,  you  are  grateful,  sir. 
But  you've  good  reason.  [Looks  at  Ardia]  I  had  no  such 

mate 
To  make  the  dark  hours  fly. 

Ber.  Pray  speak  to  her. 

Osw.  In  my  good  time. 

Ber.  Nay,  now! 

Osw.  The  day  is  long. 

I  shall  be  gentle,  for  I  owe  her  much 
Who  gives  me  back  my  son.     Come  to  our  guests. 

Ber.  Does  Frederick 

Osw.  Ay,  he  knows  all,  and  bears 

No  grudge. 

Ber.  Knows  all? 

Osw.  He  clapped  my  plot  as  though 

His  own  thick  noil  had  hatched  it. 

Ber.  And  the  princess — 


K  I  D  M  I  R  265 

Osw.  You  see  her  smile?     There's  answer  for  you. 

Come! 

No  blush !     Put  on  a  face.     Your  bridal  news 
Shall  sauce  our  banquet. 

[They  move  to  guests] 

Fred.  [To  Bertrand]  Greet  you,  sir!     But  why 
So  pale,  my  lord?     I  fear  me  you  have  spent 
A  sleepless  night. 

Ber.  Ay,  as  the  stars. 

A  Lord.  The  stars? 

He  winked  then,  by  the  rood ! 

Ber.  What  do  you  say? 

Lord.  I  say  the  stars  do  wink,  most  gracious  prince. 

Osw.  Come,  find  your  seats,  my  friends !     Yet  two  of  us, 
Lord  Charilus  and  my  unworthy  self 
Must  keep  our  feet  till  we  have  drunk  the  wine 
Made  sacrosanct  by  one  night's  rest  upon 
The  Virgin's  altar. 

[Bertrand  places  Ardia's  seat  by  her  f other  t  who  stands  at 
the  left  of  Oswald] 

You,  fair  Berenice, 

Sit  at  my  right,  and  on  your  other  side 
The  graceless  prince  of  Suli  begs  for  room. 

Bere.  He  beg,  my  lord?     I  have  not  heard  his  tongue, 
And  for  his  eyes,  I  fear  no  leek  of  Wales 
Could  pull  a  beggar's  tear  from  them  to  oil 
This  suit.     But  he  is  welcome. 

Ber.  [Taking  seat  by  her]  Thank  you,  lady. 

[When  all  are  seated  save  Charilus  and  Oswald  a  priest 
enters  bearing  a  chalice  of  wine  which  he  places  on  table 
before  Oswald] 

Osw.  This  is  the  cup  by  angels  visited 
In  night's  deep  hours.     Herein  they  dropped  the  peace 
Of  Heaven,  which  Charilus  and  I  shall  take 
Into  our  hearts.     I  know  in  truth  it  holds 


266  K I D  M I R 

Sweet  peace  for  me — the  peace  that  thirty  years 
My  veins  have  ached  for.     Charilus,  what  say  you? 

Char.  My  heart  can  hold  no  more  of  peace  than  now 
Doth  fill  it,  but  I  drink  with  you,  my  lord. 

[Drinks  from  goblet  which  Oswald  has  filled  from  chalicey 
and  Oswald  drinks  from  goblet  filled  by  Charilus] 

Osw.  [Dropping  his  glass]  Is  peace  a  fire? 

I'  faith,  this  kindles  me! 

Thou  smileless  priest,  take  off  the  Virgin's  cup! 
You  think  it  needs  another  blessing,  sir, 
Since  my  bold  hand  has  touched  it?     Out  with  you! 

[Exit  priest  with  chalice] 

That  pinch-face  has  seen  hell  and  fasts  to  keep 
The  ghost  down.     I'll  not  fast.     Set  to,  my  friends. 
Fill  up  your  bowls,  for  I've  a  health  for  you. 
We  drink  to  Berenice,  bride  to  be 
Of  Bertrand,  prince  of  Suli  and  my  son! 

A  Lord.  [As  all  lift  their  glasses] 
We  pledge  the  bride  of  Bertrand — Berenice! 

Ber.  Drink  not,  my  lords,  till  you  have  changed  that 

name 

To  Ardia,  daughter  of  our  noble  guest, 
Lord  Charilus! 

Fred.  [Rising]  If  this  be  sport,  Earl  Oswald, 
A  world  of  groans  shall  pay  for  't! 

Bere.  [In  mock  swoon]  Oh  ...  I  faint.  .  .  . 
[Her  ladies  help  her] 

Osw.  You  bawling  ass!    You  thousand  times  a  fool! 

Ber.  [To  Oswald]  YouVe  woven  a  maze  about  me,  and 

I'm  blind 

With  't,  yet  I  see  to  pluck  one  truth,— my  bride 
Is  Ardia.     No  other  under  Heaven!    My  lords, 
It  is  the  wine 

Osw.  Would  then  'twere  in  your  throat! 

Is  this  the  riddle  of  your  morning  smile? 


K  I  D  M  I  R  267 

Your  fair  compliance,  soft  submission?     Sir, 
By  my  heart's  blood,  I'll  give  you  to  the  sword 
Ere  you  shall  make  me  father  to  a  drab — 
The  spoil  of  your  own  lust,  the —    What,  you  draw? 
Ay,  strike  me  down !    Let  me  be  first  to  fall 
Beneath  your  mighty  sword!    The  rust  has  lain 
A  lifetime  on  it,  and  a  father's  blood 
May  cleanse  it  bright  as  Heaven! 

Ber.  0,  my  Christ! 

Osw.  Yea,  call  on  him,  and  he  will  hear  thee  too, 
Who  honorest  so  thy  father! 

[Bertrand  stands  speechless] 
Now,  my  lords, 

Since  he  no  longer  brays,  I  have  a  tale 
To  tell  you.     I,  too,  had  a  father,  though 
The  world  has  long  forgot  him. 

Fred.  No,  my  friend. 

Well  do  I  bear  in  mind  his  fair,  proud  face, 
And  glory  of  his  arms. 

Osw.  He  was  struck  down 

Because  a  minion,  straying  from  the  hearth, 
Looked  on  his  beauty  with  her  nestling  eyes. 

Fred.  For  no  more  cause? 

Osw.  I  swear  it.     Friends,  if  death 

Were  the  cold  price  for  kissing  of  a  jade, 
Who  here  would  be  alive?     For  so  slight  sin 
Was  my  brave  father  murdered.     Charilus,  speak ! 
Was  not  the  princely  heart  of  John  of  Clyffe 
Ripped  with  a  hate-keen  sword, — the  sword  of  him 
Who  claimed  the  lordship  of  those  rebel  lips 
That  chose  my  father  liege? 

Char.  It  is  too  true. 

Osw.  Who  better  knows?     Say  that  a  wilding  flies 
The  builded  bower,  hearing  a  lordlier  song 
Pass  on  the  wind  than  her  dull  mate  can  tune, 


268  K  I  D  M  I  R 

Must  then  the  singer  die,  who  scarcely  knows 
His  song  is  heard,  or  that  a  bold  wing  follows? 

Char.  Whether  the  earl  of  Clyffe  sang  then  to  woo, 
As  I  believe,  or  for  the  love  of  song, 
As  you  do  say,  my  lord, — his  death  was  sin, 
And  he  who  wrought  that  woe  shed  tears  enough 
To  clear  his  stain,  if  tears  may  whiten  souls. 

Osw.  A  murderer's  tears!     But  what  of  mine,  the  son's? 

Ber.  Your  oath — your  honor,  sir!     Where  is  the  love 
You  swore  should  cleanse  your  shield? 

Osw.  Safe  in  my  heart. 

And  burning  for  my  father. 

Ber.  God  of  pity! 

Osw.  That  was  the  love  I  spoke  of. 

Ber.  All  be  deaf 

But  hell! 

Osw.  Hear  the  full  tale,  my  friends.     I  swear 
The  earl  of  Clyffe  died  for  no  more  offence 
Than  I  have  here  set  out, — and  I,  his  only  son, 
Kissed  his  red  wounds  and  from  his  breast  unbound 
This  bloody  scarf —  [taking  scarf  from  his  bosom]  that  then 

was  crimson,  now 

In  age-grown  black  bemourns  my  step  that  comes 
So  sluggish  to  revenge.     For  thirty  years 
Had  passed  ere  I  beheld  his  murderer, 
Then  face  to  face  we  stood  ....  and  face  to  face 
We  stand  ...  for  this  is  he,  this  Charilus 
Of  Kidmir — peace-lipped  Cain — gray  hypocrite, 
Whose  blood  is  honey  in  his  veins,  whose  eyes 
Stare  on  the  world  as  he  were  some  bland  god 
Who  made  it  and  said  "good." 

Char.  Sir,  I  would  send 

My  daughter  to  her  brothers.     Grant  me  this. 
And  I  am  ready  for  what  death  you  please. 


K  I  D  M  I R  269 

Ard.  I  will  not  go.     One  sword  shall  strike  us  both. 

[Turns  to  Oswald] 

But  first  a  word  to  you.     When  Charilus  falls, 
Say  farewell  to  your  son.     He  pledged  his  life 
To  my  two  brothers  for  our  father's  safety, 
And  you,  who  know  him  least,  yet  know  he'll  keep 
That  pledge. 

Osw.  What,  creature,  will  you  lie? 

Ard.  I  speak 

The  truth.     Strike,  if  you  can,  this  gray  old  man, 
Silvered  in  service  to  the  one  high  God, 
Sinless  as  sunlight,  fair  in  sweetened  age, — 
Let  forth  his  sainted  blood,  and  Bertrand  lives 
No  longer  than  the  shortest  time  between 
Suli  and  Kidmir. 

Osw.  That's  a  lifetime  then! 

He  shall  not  step!     I'll  have  him  hung  with  chains 
Till  he  is  fast  as  rooted  oaks  in  earth ! 

Ber.  [Stunned]  A  guest  betrayed 

Osw.  Betrayed?     I  promised  him 

Such  treatment  as  he  gave  my  blood.     And  he 
Shall  have  it — death! 

Char.  Peace  be  my  heir! 

Ber.  [Takes  stand  by  Charilus]   Death,  sir? 
First  break  this  sword !     Thy  sin  must  be  unnamed 
Until  the  angel  who  doth  write  thee  damned 
Gives  it  foul  christening.     I  break  my  pledge. 
I  will  not  go  to  Kidmir.     Here  I'll  give 
My  life  for  Charilus. 

Char.                      No  blow  for  me! 
O,  may  I  unavenged  lie  forgot, 
And  my  forgiving  blood  make  barren  ground 
Alive  with  asphodel 


270  K I D  M  I R 

Ber.  Nay,  I  will  strike, 

Though  a  father's  sword  meet  mine! 

[Charilus  trembles,  and  supports  himself  by  Ardia's  arm] 

Osw.  Commend  me,  stars! 

You  counselled  well.  [To  Bertrand]  Fool,  do  not  draw. 

There's  none 

Will  run  against  you.     Charilus  is  dead, 
And  by  a  way  more  sure.     His  holy  goblet 
Held  one  rich  drop  the  angels  put  not  there 
Nor  Virgin  blessed.     See  how  he  pales — and  stares — 
And  cannot  get  his  voice?     So  are  we  spared 
A  swan-song  homily  trickling  through  his  beard. 
Be  off,  old  pray-lip — off,  and  take  with  you 
Your  cat-foot  peace  and  milky  piety ! 
I  serve  a  vengeful  God  who  armeth  men 
For  his  own  wars ! 

Ber.  Heaven,  draw  thy  clouds  about  thee! 
[Charilus  dies  in  Ardia's  arms] 

Osw.  He's  dead!    The  air  of  earth  is  sweet  again. 
I  have  no  enemy! 

Ber.  [Looking  up  from  the  body]  You  have  no  son. 

[Curtain] 


ACT  III 

SCENE:    On   Kidmir   Pass.     Moonlight  paling   to  dawn. 
Ardia  alone,  struggling  up  the  Pass. 

Ard.  [Looking  back]  They  do  not  follow.     I  am  safe 

from  that.  [Sits  on  a  rock] 

Why  should  I  climb?    There  is  no  rest  up  there. 
But  there  is  death,  mayhap, — and  that  is  worth 
The  sorest  climbing.     O,  my  father  dear, 
Is't  thy  dead  self  so  heavy  on  my  heart? 
Thou  shouldst  be  light  upon  thy  spirit  wings, 
And  give  me  of  thy  freedom. 

[Gaina  enters  from  above] 

Gaina,  hast  found 
The  spring? 

Gaina.      'Tis  farther  up. 

Ard.  More  steps. 

Gaina.  Wait  here. 

Barca  will  bring  you  drink.     Nay,  sit  you  still. 

Ard.  I  must.     How  this  weak  body  masters  us, 
Cooling  the  bravest  will  that  in  strong  limbs 
Might  dance  to  any  goal!     Yet  do  we  say 
The  will  is  lord,  whose  flush  is  in  the  blood 
And  fades  wi'  the  paling  body.     By  that  lie 
We  cling  to  Heaven  and  immortality. 
.  .  .  O,  I  am  lost  so  deep  I  need  not  fear 
The  farthest  bolt  of  God!    Out,  out  the  pale 
Of  his  concern! 

Gaina.  Why  now,  honey  dear! 

A  sip  of  fine  spring  water  and  you'll  be 
A  lark  o'  the  morning!    All's  not  bad,  I  say. 

271 


272  K I  D  M  I  R 

There's  Banissat  would  marry  you  to-morrow! 

What  pretty  words  he  spoke,  and  took  us  in 

Like  a  good  father — but  I  saw  him  look! 

And  he  were  shaved  he'd  have  a  merry  eye. 

Such  meal  and  honey!     I've  a  thankful  tooth! 

Come  now,  what  say  you?     Run  from  such  a  fortune, 

And  stumbling  is  no  matter.     Ay,  a  trip 

Or  two  were  well  enough. 

Ard.  Yes,  foolish  'twas 

To  fly  from  Banissat. 

Gaina.  You  know  it?     Well,  well, 

If  it's  your  own  right  mind  you've  run  to,  dearie, 
There's  no  harm  done  past  mending. 

Ard.  [Taking  a  small  dagger  from  her  dress] 

This  had  saved 
My  feet  these  weary  steps. 

Gaina.  Sweet  Mary,  save  us ! 

Wouldst  slay  a  prince  for  loving  thee? 

Ard.  No,  wretch. 

I  could  not  take  another's  life  though  'twere 
Of  all  the  world  the  foulest. 

Gaina.  Bless  the  lass ! 

Ard.  But  out  of  pity  I  could  take  my  own. 
Why  should  my  heart  beat  on  and  labor  so 
For  merest  leave  to  beat  again? 

Gaina.  Now,  now! 

[  Enter  Barca] 

Here's  Barca,  praise  the  saints!    Now  you'll  take  heart! 
[Ardia  takes  gourd  from  Barca  and  drinks] 

Ard.  Thanks,    Barca.     But    there's    misery    in    the 

draught 

That  makes  me  keen  again.     I  fear  me  I'll 
Yet  hope. 

Barca.  Will  you  walk  on? 

Ard.  Yes,  come. 


K  I  D  M  I  R  273 

Barca.  [Listening]  What's  that? 
A  noise  below ! 

Ard.  Some  one  from  Banissat! 

I'll  not  be  taken! 

Barca.  Come  aside,  my  lady. 

Here  is  good  hiding. 

[They  go  behind  a  great  rock  half  hidden  by  cedars.  Ber- 
trand  enters  below.  Ardia  steps  out  and  stands  before 
him.  He  kneels] 

Ber.  Spirit,  hast  come  for  me?     I'll  join  thee,  love, 
When  I  have  climbed  this  peak  and  met  the  sword 
That  sets  my  honor  free. 

Ard.  Nay,  rise,  my  lord. 

Ber.  [Rising]  Thy  living  self?    Here  in  the  night  alone? 

Ard.  Barca  is  here,  and  Gaina. 

Ber.  Sweet,  the  moon 

Makes  thee  so  fair. 

Ard.  [Smiling]     Was  I  not  always  fair? 

Ber.  [Embracing  her]  My  living  love!    Sit  here, — and 
now  thy  story. 

Ard.  I'll  shorten  it  to  get  to  thine. 

Ber.  You  had 

The  dagger  that  I  sent  you?     [She  shows  it  to  him] 

My  sole  gift 
To  love. 

Ard.  O,  it  was  dear  as  death  then  seemed 
Tome! 

Ber.  Cast  it  away. 

Ard.  No,  for  love's  sake 

I'll  keep  it,  and  it  shall  do  no  work  save  God's. 
Listen  ....  it  prophesies  ....  I'll  need  it  yet. 

Ber.  O,  I  was  mad  to  send  it !     Would  you  wreck 
This  tent  set  fair  upon  the  soul's  long  road, 
By  pain-craft  wrought  of  every  whiter  dream, 
Where  God  may  sit  with  us  and  map  the  winds 


274  K I D  M  I R 

That  forward  blow  and  back,  the  paths  laid  free 
To  His  far  end,  and  those  where  blind  walls  rise 
Breast-piled  with  thwarted  dust?     Dear  soul  of  me, 
Would  we  know  Heaven  we  must  listen  here, 
And  one  word  lost  may  mean  a  path  all  dark 
When  we  fare  outward.     This  is  not  for  you, 
This  fear-born  blade.     Away  with  it!  « 

[She  clasps  it  closer] 

Is  not 
Your  danger  past? 

Ard.  Not  while  A  vesta  loves. 

Ber.  O  God!     But  tell  me  now  the  full,  foul  story, — 
Yet  not  all  foul,  since  you  are  here  alive. 

Ard.  Your  father 

Ber.  I've  no  father! 

Ard.  — sent  me  forth 

With  my  two  servants.     When  we  reached  Avesta, 
The  prince  met  us  with  welcome,  much  too  warm 
Methought,  so  in  the  night  we  stole  away 
And  reached  the  pass — all  with  some  wit  and  care, 
As  you  shall  know  hereafter.     Now  your  word. 

Ber.  I  was  imprisoned. 

Ard.  Yes,  I  know. 

Ber.  A  guard 

Gave  me  his  sword.     I  fought  the  others. 

Ard.  Fought? 

Ber.  And  killed.     Look  on  this  blade. 
A  brother's  blood. 

Ard.  My  love! 

Ber.  At  last  I  am  Earl  Oswald's  son! 

Ard.  My  Bertrand!     [Draining  aside  his  cloak] 
You  are  wounded !     Vairdelan ! 

Ber.  That  name  is  no  more  mine. 

Ard.  How  did  you  pass 

Avesta? 


K  I  D  M  I  R  275 

Ber.  The  guards  were  friends  of  Vairdelan. 
I  used  the  stainless  name  that  I  had  lost. 
O,  I  have  lied  to  keep  my  word,  and  slew 
That  I  might  die! 

Ard.  Might  die?     You  mean  ...  my  brothers. 
They  must  be  merciful. 

Ber.  With  Charilus  slain? 

Ard.  O,  me!     I  too  shall  die.     And  that  is  best, 
If  anything  we  do  be  worst  or  best. 
I've  read  within  my  father's  secret  script 
That  earth  shall  lose  its  heart  of  fire,  and  lie 
Dead-cold  and  dark  with  no  green  thing  upon  it. 
Then  this  black  crust  shall  bear  no  form  of  man, 
Nor  trace  of  him.     Why  then  such  ceaseless  pain 
To  look  a  little  longer  on  the  sun, 
When  he  who  seals  his  eyes  this  day  with  dust 
But  leagiles  with  time  to  reach  the  journey's  end 
Without  the  journey's  ache? 

Ber.  Hast  lost  thy  faith? 

Ber.  My  heart,  say  earth  must  be  its  own  still  grave, 
Our  destiny  lies  farther.     But  were  life 
A  march  to  naught,  I'd  choose  it  for  the  sake 
Of  one  bright  wonder  by  the  way — your  love, 
My  Ardia. 

Ard.       You  love  me,  yet  would  die.     Thou  'rt  mine! 
And  I  will  hold  thee,  yea,  on  this  warm  earth, 
Not  in  some  strange  and  tearless  world! 

[While  they  speak  Barca  moves  up  the  pass  and  listens] 

Barca.  My  lord? 

Ber.  Ay,  Barca? 

Barca.  Men  are  on  the  pass. 

Ard.  Above? 

My  brothers!    Oh! 

Ber.  I  go  to  meet  them. 

Ard.  Stay! 


276  K I  D  M I R 

Ber.  They  shall  not  come  to  me.     I  go  to  them. 
My  honor,  love,  my  honor! 

Ard.  O,  men,  men! 

You  build  a  shrine  to  love  and  ask  us  fling 
Our  lives,  our  souls  into  it.     Once  within, 
The  door  forever  shut,  there  sits  a  god, 
A  monster-god,  your  honor,  and  we  must  sue 
For  barest  room  to  stand  or  crouch  or  kneel 
Where  by  your  oaths  we  should  be  sovereign. 

Ber.  The  shrine  itself  is  honor,  dear,  my  heart. 
That  gone,  we  have  indeed  no  holy  place 
To  shelter  love.     Was  't  hot  yourself  who  said 
That  man  to  man  must  keep  his  pledge? 

Ard.  Ah  me, 

That  shining  night!     That  night  of  golden  wings! 
And  now  comes  this.     Can  such  two  nights  be  bprn 
In  the  same  world,  and  but  one  sun  between? 

[Bertrand  staggers] 
You're  bleeding  still! 

Ber.  Fast,  fast. 

Ard.  My  veil 

I'll  wrap  you  with  it !     [Binds  wound] 

Ber.  Thanks,  for  I  would  live 
To  die  upon  their  swords. 

Ard.                                Wait,  wait,  my  lord! 
O,  do  not  meet  them  in  their  first  deep  rage 

Ber.  Farewell! 

Ard.  You  shall  not  see  them  till  my  prayers 
Have  turned  their  hearts  from  blood. 

Ber.  Part  thou  with  hope 

And  pain  will  leave  thee  too.     That  is  the  wrench, 
Not  death. 

Ard.  Stay,  stay!    Are  there  not  miracles  yet? 
I'll  hide  you  yonder  till 


K I D  M  I  R  277 

Ber.  They  come! 

[Hurries  up  pass,  staggers  and  falls] 

Ard.  He  faints! 

The  miracle  begins!    Here,  Barca,  Gaina, 
Bear  him  aside.     Be  swift!    Then  come  to  me. 
O,  gently,  Barca!     Haste! 

[Barca  draws  Berirand  behind  the  rocks] 
He  shall  be  saved! 

Thou'lt  not  deny  me,  Heaven!     O,  forget 
That  ever  I  blasphemed  Thee! 

[Enter -,  above,  Biondel  and  Vigard] 

Vig.  Who  is  here? 

Ard.  My  brothers ! 

Vig.  Ardia,  by  my  life! 

Bion.  'Tis  she. 

What  do  you  here? 

Ard.  I  go  to  you.     Where  else 

Shall  I  find  shelter  in  a  world  now  bare 
Save  where  your  hearts  make  gentle  room  for  me? 

Bion.  What  do  you  mean?     Where  is  our  father? 
Speak! 

Ard.  You  have  not  heard?     Why  then  do  you  go  down? 

Bion.  For  word  of  Charilus.     No  messenger 
Has  come.     All  night  we  watched.     What  can  you  say 
More  than  this  fearful  meeting  tells?     No  word? 
Are  you  the  ghost  you  look?     Is  Charilus  safe? 

Ard.  Safe  as  yon  Heaven  would  have  him.     He  is  dead. 

[Silence] 

You  loved  him,  though  you  went  another  way 
To  find  your  God. 

Bion.  Our  father  dead?     0,  sister, 
Not  cold,  not  still,  not  silent  to  his  sons, 
Who  loved  his  voice  even  when  they  most  forsook  it! 

Ard.  Oswald  betrayed  us. 


278  K  I  D  M  I  R 

Vig.  O,  my  sword,  'tis  thou 

Shalt  split  his  heart,  though  every  spear  in  Suli 
Then  pierce  my  own!     [Going] 

Bion.  Stay,  Vigard! 

Vig.                                               Earth  is  fire! 
Can  you  be  still  upon  it?     Where  is  Bertrand 
With  his  deep  oaths?     O,  coward!     I  will  seek  him 

Ard.  No  need.     He'll  come  to  you. 

Bion.  He'll  keep  his  oath, 

You  think? 

Ard.  I  know  he  will. 

Vig.  So  knew  you  too 

That  Charilus  was  safe.     Call  him  to  life, 
And  we'll  believe  you  yet ! 

Bion.  How  died  our  father? 

[Ardia  weeps] 

No  matter  now.     And  Oswald  cast  you  out? 
Afoot? 

Gaina.  Ay,  so  he  did!     I'll  answer  that! 

Ard.  He  sent  us  under  guard. 

Gaina.  Ay,  but  afoot! 

And  'twas  a  trudge  to  Avesta.     O,  the  day ! 

Bion.  Prince  Banissat  gave  you  no  help? 

Gaina.  No  help? 

Who  said  so?    There's  a  prince!     He  drew  his  sword, 
And  swore  he'd  drive  Earl  Oswald  to  the  sea, 
And  said  "Avesta's  yours," — that  to  my  mistress, 
She  then  bedraggled  and  so  full  of  tears 
She  had  no  words  to  thank  him.     I  did  that! 
Then  we  had  sup  and  bed,  and  when  my  bones 
Were  sweet  with  sleep,  why  we  must  up  again 
And  tug  it  to  the  peak. 

Bion.  [To  Ardia]        He  sheltered  you! 
Then  there  was  hope,  which  you  have  trampled  down 
By  this  mad  flight. 


K  I  D  M  I  R  279 

Ard.                     I  dared  not  think  the  prince 
Would  make  my  bitter  fortunes  his.     In  you 
Lay  my  defence,  and  to  your  love  I  came. 
You  must  make  peace  with  Oswald.     Yes,  my  brothers, 
Although  you  write  it  with  our  father's  blood. 
He  is  all  powerful.     When  Bertrand  comes 

Vig.  Ha,  when  he  comes! 

Bion.  What  then? 

Ard.  You  may  demand 

Whatever  you  will  of  Oswald,  if  you  spare 
The  dear  life  of  his  son. 

Vig.  I'll  have  that  life 

And  Oswald's  too! 

Ard.  He'll  make  you  any  terms 

Vig.  Ay,  any  terms,  and  keep  none,  once  his  son 
Is  safe. 

Bion.    [Looking   down  the  pass]   Who   comes?  —  with 

gleaming  lances?    Ah  .  .  . 
The  prince! 

Vig.  By  Allah,  he! 

[It  is  now  dawn.  Ardia  steps  back  into  shadow  as  Banis- 
sat  and  followers  enter.  His  retainers  wait  at  entrance 
below  while  he  advances] 

Ban.  Good-morrow,  friends. 

Bion.  Hail  to  you,  Banissat! 

Ban.  I  seek  a  dove 

That  fled  my  hand  last  night.     Has  't  flown  your  way? 

Bion.  Our  sister  is  with  us. 

Ban.  Then  search  ends  here. 

Bion.  Her  flight  meant  no  ingratitude,  my  lord. 
Her  father's  arms  grown  cold,  she  came  to  ours 
By  the  shortest  way,  bringing  her  honor  home 
Where  none  might  question  it. 

Ban.  We  love  her  more 

For  watchful  care  of  what  to  us  is  precious 


280  K  I  D  M  I  R 

As  to  herself.     Heaven-pure  must  be  the  bride 
Of  Banissat,  and  tainted  Heaven  will  put 
The  earth  to  blush  ere  she  will  bring  us  shame. 
I  offer  her  my  princedom. 

Ard.  [Stepping  out]  One  whose  veil 
Is  lost?     Whose  face  is  common  to  the  eyes 
Of  beggars  by  the  road? 

Ban.  O,  bald  and  bitter! 

But  did  not  one,  our  Lady  of  Paradise, 
Walk  with  bare  brow  among  our  counsellors? 
And  you  are  pure  as  she.     Who  dares  to  soil 
The  chosen  of  Banissat  with  whisper  that 
He  saw  you  on  this  journey,  forfeits  eyes 
And  tongue.     So  silence  shall  give  burial  deep 
To  every  slander. 

Ard.  You  will  not  forget. 

Ban.  Yourself  shall  be  my  dear  oblivion. 
For  Beauty  keeps  no  records,  has  no  past; 
Her  arms  engird  love's  moment,  and  there  is 
No  other  time. 

Ard.  Nay,  Beauty's  history 

Is  writ  beneath  her  bloom,  and  when  that  goes 
The  deep,  uncovered  scars  are  hated  more 
Because  of  love  that  kissed  them  unaware. 
I  dare  not  wed  you,  but  say  that  I  dared, 
Wouldst  grasp  my  broken  fortunes  when  you  need 
Strong  Antioch's  staff  and  sceptre  to  make  good 
Your  gates  'gainst  Oswald?     And  I've  heard,  my  lord, 
That  Antioch's  daughter  is  a  prize  you  seek. 

Ban.  Be  not  o'er-jealous,  Ardia  of  the  Stars, 
For  Antioch  shall  serve  thee.     There  my  suit 
Is  but  a  fair  appearance, — there  I  woo 
To  make  thy  state  secure,  and  thou  shalt  be 
Bride  of  my  heart  unrivalled. 


K I  D  M  I R  281 

Ard.  Hear  me  then! 

I  am  betrothed  to  Bertrand.     He  is  sworn 
To  me  as  I  to  him. 

Vig.  Death  to  your  tongue ! 

You'd  wed  your  father's  slayer? 

Ard.  I  would  wed 

Lord  Bertrand.  [Kneels  to  Biondel\  Brother! 

Vig.  Give  no  ear  to  her! 

Ard.  If  you  would  save  Avesta  and  yourselves, 
Make  peace  with  Oswald.     Trust  not  Antioch. 
When  Bertrand  comes 

Vig.  He  will  not  come!     He's  not 
A  fool  as  thou! 

Ard.  He  comes! 

Vig.  [Lifting  his  sword]  Then  here's  his  welcome! 

[Bertrand   comes   out   and   walks   slowly   to   the   group. 
Vigard,  amazed,  lowers  his  sword] 

Ber.  My  friends,  well  met.     You  cut  my  journey  short. 
[Gives  his  sword  to  Biondel] 

Bion.  You  have  come  back  ...  to  death? 

Ber.  The  blow,  my  lord. 

Your  work  is  wellnigh  done.     An  easy  stroke 
Will  finish  it. 

Vig.  And  whose  is  that? 

Bion.  Not  mine. 

I  do  condemn  him,  but  can  lift  no  hand 
To  seal  mine  order. 

Vig.  I  am  not  so  weak. 

This  blow  for  Charilus ! 

Ard.  [Staying  him]  If  Bertrand  dies 
My  honor  goes  unto  a  grave  so  deep 
No  shoot  of  green  will  ever  from  it  spring 
For  the  world's  eye  to  light  on. 

Bion.  You  make  much 

Of  broken  troth.     There's  many  a  maid  has  lived 
In  wedded  honor  with  a  second  choice. 


282  K I  D  M  I  R 

Ard.  But  I  may  not. 

Bion.  Peace,  sister. 

Ard.  Let  him  live, 

And  Suli's  glory  will  enwrap  my  name 
Stainless  and  safe. 

Ban.  'Tis  safe  with  me.     Ay,  safer. 

Let  Antioch  enlist  with  me,  and  I 
Shall  wear  the  name  of  Suli  with  my  own. 

Ard.  You've  yet  to  hear  .  .  .  you  do  not  know,  my 
lord.  .  .  . 

Ber.  Sweet,  plead  no  more.     Let  me  go  on  to  Heaven 
If  't  be  God  wills  his  gates  shall  ope  to  me. 

Vig.  You'll  stop  in  hell  a  thousand  years  or  so ! 

Ard.  Wait!    I  will  tell 

Vig.  You've  said  too  much! 

Bion.  Speak,  Ardia. 

Ard.  In  Suli  castle  where  I  was  betrothed 
To  Bertrand,  just  one  sun  agone — but  one — 
He  spent  the  night  with  me. 

Vig.  She  lies! 

Ard.  Say  now 

If  Banissat,  or  any  lord  save  Bertrand, 
Will  make  me  wife. 

Bion.  Must  I  believe  you? 

Ban.  No. 

A  woman's  trick. 

Ard.  There's  proof.     Ask  whom  you  will 
Of  Oswald's  train — the  lords  who  saw  me  cast 
From  Suli's  door,  too  vile  for  word  or  touch. 
Ask  any  trooper,  jesting  by  the  way, 
And  hear  my  name  made  foul.     The  army  rings 
With  it.     Ask  any  gossip  of  the  tents 

Ban.  O,  stop  her  tongue!     It  thunders  on  me!    All 
The  air  is  storm!    Peace,  or  I'll  strike  her  down! 


K  I  D  M  I  R  283 

Bion.  This  seals  your  death,  Lord  Bertrand.     Now  my 

hand 

Is  hot  and  willing. 
[Enter  a  messenger  below.    He  gives  a  packet  to  Banissat] 

Messenger.  Antioch  sends  this, 
O,  prince! 

Bion.  [To  Bertrand]  I  had  your  word  above  all  oaths 
That  you  would  guard  our  sister.     When  the  priest 
Strips  bare  the  shrine,  not  outraged  God  or  man 
Shall  show  him  mercy. 

Ard.                           He  is  innocent! 
'Twas  Oswald's  plot  to  cast  me  in  the  dust — 
And  there  I  lie  where  all  the  world  may  see — 
But  Bertrand's  soul  is  guiltless 

Vig.  Guiltless!    Tush! 

Your  puzzle's  clear.  [To  Biondel]  She  dies  with  him. 

Ard.  I  die 

If  Bertrand  dies.     But,  oh  my  brothers,  we 
Are  young — we  love — will  you  not  let  us  live? 

Bion.  [To  Vigard]  'Tis  best  she  dies. 

Ber.  You  will  not  dare 

Bion.  The  prince 

Shall  be  her  judge. 

Ban.  First  let  us  speak  aside, 

For  Antioch  fails  us,  and  we've  more  to  weigh 
Than  the  quick  death  of  this  too-guilty  pair. 

[Banissat,  Biondel,  and  Vigard  go  off  above] 

Ber.  I  have  brought  death  upon  you. 

Ard.  Life,  'tis  life 

Now  beating  in  the  dawn!     What  music!     Hear  it! 
O,  we  shall  live,  my  lord,  and  live  together! 

Ber.  In  Heaven,  love. 

Ard.  True,  for  this  planet  too, 

Ay,  even  this  earth,  is  set  in  Heaven  as  deep 
As  any  star.     'Tis  we  are  heaven  to  eyes 


284  K  I  D  M  I  R 

In  other  worlds,  and  would  be  to  our  own 

Could  we  believe.     O,  hope  with  me,  my  Bertrand ! 

No,  no,  not  hope,  whose  other  half  is  doubt, 

And  to  its  dark  and  fearful  double  owes 

Its  very  radiance,  too,  too  unlike 

Belief's  transmuting  sun! 

Ber.  Ah,  love,  no  man  ere  broke 

Undrained  his  cup,  or  brewed  again  those  drops 
To  his  desire— 

Ard.  Nay,  every  man  is  new 

In  destiny,  his  star  his  own,  and  foots 
Unmeasured  paths. 

Ber.  On  mortal  feet. 

Ard.  Be  't  so, 

Each  birth  is  a  high  venture  of  the  soul 
Feeling  an  untried  way  for  deity's  dream, 
And  none  may  know  where  th'  deep  and  twilight  trail 
Shall  flash  with  God-rift,  and  the  dawn  be  his. 

Ber.  O,  bravest,  bow  thy  head 

Ard.  Nay,  nay,  my  lord! 

Lock  up  your  spirit,  let  mine  rule  this  hour, 
Or  be  with  me  the  flame  of  faith  that  leaps 
To  deed  in  God.     For  we  do  help  him,  dear. 
Our  parcelled  strength  is  whole  and  new  in  His, 
A  power  born  that  touches  us  again, 
Breeding  our  greater  self  that  yet  gives  back 
His  own  increase,  until  the  way  is  strewn 
Even  with  his  miracles  and  ours.     So  works 
The  unending  drama  out,  where  every  act 
Begets  an  act  yet  greater  than  itself. 

Ber.  Let  me  but  kiss  thy  hands. 

Ard.  You  will  not  help? 

You'll  not  believe?     Is  it  so  strange 
That  you  should  live? 

Ber.  That  hate  should  let  me  live. 


K  I  D  M  I  R  285 

Ard.  Is  it  more  strange  that  hate  should  grow  love-still, 
Than  that  the  wind  should  cease,  as  now  it  does, 
To  strip  the  bloom  from  yonder  bough,  and  lie 
Unfelt  within  its  silent  place?     More  strange 
That  life  should  keep  its  flow  in  your  warm  veins 
Than  that  the  sun  now  creeping  on  the  peaks 
Should  wander  down  and  on  and  lay  in  gold 
The  valleys  of  the  world,  moved  by  no  hand 
We  see  or  name,  but  know,  but  know ! 

[Biondel,  Vigard,  and  Banissat  re-enter] 

Ard.  He  lives! 

Bion.  He  lives.     Speak  the  conditions,  prince. 

Ban.  [To  Bertrand]  Your  life 

Is  spared  that  she  whose  name  is  lost 
May   wear   your   own.     You    shall    remain    on    Kidmir 

peak, 

And  make  her  yours  by  every  priestly  rite 
With  open,  fair  observance.     Then  Earl  Oswald 
Must  greet  as  daughter  one  he  vilely  mocked 
From  his  proud  door,  and  far  and  wide  acclaim  her 
Princess  of  Suli.     Will  his  love  for  you 
So  bow  his  heart? 

Ber.  I  may  not  speak  for  him. 

Ard.  He  will  consent. 

Ban.  And,  further,  he  shall  give 

To  Biondel  the  governorship  of  Hon. 
And  grant  Ramoor  to  Vigard. 

Ber.  Not  for  price 

Of  my  poor  life  will  Oswald  yield  these  towns 
To  any  save  a  Christian. 

Ban.  So  we  think. 

And  therefore  will  these  lords  forswear 
The  Prophet  for  your  Christ. 

Ber.  Such  sudden  change 

Vig.  Not  sudden,  sir.     We've  long  debated  it 


286  K  I  D  M  I  R 

In  secret  talk,  but  loved  too  well  our  prince 
To  so  forsake  his  banner. 

Bion.  Now  the  day 

Is  here  when  as  his  true  and  Christian  friends 
We  may  best  serve  him,  and  yet  keep  the  peace 
For  which  our  father  died. 

Ber.  He  is  alive  again 

If  you  be  true.     Though  wonder  is  in  the  hour 
I  will  not  stare  or  question. 

Ard.  Question  nothing. 

Do  you  not  live? 

Bion.  The  prince  will  summon  Oswald 

To  earliest  parley,  and  make  our  offer  known. 

Ban.  Nor  lose  an  instant.     Here  begins  my  journey. 

[Signs  to  retainers  who  start  down  the  pass] 

Bion.  We  need  not  give  you  thanks  when  you've  our 

hearts 
That  hold  them. 

Ban.  By  the  sunset  hour  the  earl 

Shall  give  me  answer.     Meet  me  in  Avesta 
'Tween  dark  and  light. 

Bion.  We  will,  my  lord. 

[Exit  Banissat] 

Ber.  O,  strange! 

Will  he  keep  faith? 

Bion.  If  you  must  doubt  his  heart, 

Trust  his  affliction.     Antioch  lost  to  him, 
What  can  he  do  but  smile  on  Christian  Oswald? 
By  that  same  argument  I  am  condemned, 
But  beg  a  respite  till  this  pushing  peace, 
Upsprung  in  haste,  may  bear  you  buds  of  proof. 

Ber.  What  world  is  this? 

Vig.  Climb  you  no  farther,  sir. 

Your  wounds  forbid.     Our  servants  shall  be  sent 
To  bear  you  up. 


K I  D  M I R  287 

Bion.  Ay,  wait  you  here,  my  lord. 

[Exeunt  Biondel  and  Vigard  above] 
Ber.  Love,  see  the  sun! 
Ard.  It  is  my  heart,  my  heart! 

[Curtain] 


ACT  IV 

SCENE:  Same  as  first  act.     An  altar  near  wall,  left.     Seven 
maidens  putting  fresh  garlands  about  the  hall. 

Mylitta.  She  must  be  dressed  by  this.     Come,  let  us 
sing! 

Mirimond.  No,  wait!     Our  part  is  yet  undone. 

Here  hangs 
A  withered  garland. 

Alenia.  Here  another.     See! 

And  there!    Well,  we  are  slack. 

Eudora.  Who  would  not  be? 

We've  cause  for  sleepy  wits  and  fingers  too, 
With  seven  days  and  nights  of  revelling. 

Garla.  And  Charilus  warm  in  's  grave. 

Myrana.  He'll  be  no  colder 

Let  come  a  hundred  months.     Ten  years,  ten  days, 
'Tis  all  the  same  i'  the  ground. 

Daphne.  And  yet,  I  think 

The  daughter  smiles  too  soon. 

Mylitta.  Troth,  I  would  smile 

For  such  a  lord  if  all  the  world  beside 
Were  wrapped  in  shroud. 

Mirimond.  I  would  the  English  knights 

Were  come!     Full  fifty,  Barca  said,  would  ride 
From  Suli. 

Mylitta.  I  know  you,  chit.     Your  eyes  will  find 
Their  way. 

Mirimond.  Mayhap  not  all  of  us  will  take 
The  homeward  ship  for  Corinth.     Did  we  think 

288 


K  I  D  M  I  R  289 

When  we  set  sail  we'd  come  in  time  to  see 
Our  Ardia  married? 

Mylitta.  You  will  dream. 

Garla.  If  dreams 

Were  men,  what  maid  would  go  unwed?    Not  you, 
Mylitta. 

Myrana.  Come,  our  song!     Tis  time! 

Eudora.  Come,  all! 

[They  sing  by  Ardia9 s  door] 

Mornings  seven  have  we  been 

Wardens  at  thy  door; 
Now  thy  lord  shall  enter  in, 

And  we  come  no  more. 

Mornings  seven  have  we  strewn 

Lilies  at  thy  door; 
Now  the  virgin  watch  is  done, 

And  we  come  no  more. 

Mornings  seven  have  we  sung 

At  thy  maiden  door; 
Now  the  seventh  morn  is  rung, 

And  we  come  no  more. 

[Door  opens  and  Ardia  comes  out.     Gaina  follows] 

Ard.  A  kiss  to  all !     Who's  happier  here  than  I 
Shall  have  my  place. 

Mirimond.  We'll  ask  Lord  Bertrand  that. 

Thou  'rt  no  more  mistress  of  your  yeas  and  nays. 

Ard.  O,  but  I  am !     I  have  a  votary  now 
Who'll  make  my  words  his  wishes  and  himself 
Bring  them  to  pass. 

Mylitta.  No  doubt.     You'll  cough 
In  oracles.     He'll  puzzle  o'er  your  sneeze 


290  K I  D  M I R 

That  he  may  do  its  meaning.     I  have  heard 
Such  husbands  do  inhabit  a  green  moon, 
And  one  may  come  to  earth. 

Ard.  Kiss  me,  Mylitta! 

Naught  else  will  stop  your  mouth.     O,  dearest  girls, 
No  father's  here  to  give  me  to  my  lord, 
And  yet  I  smile,  I  wed.     For  why? — his  love 
Is  not  in  earth  with  his  dear  body.     No! 
'Tis  all  about  me  here,  bathing  my  heart, 
Now  on  my  brow,  now  whispers  at  my  ear, 
Now  runs  before  my  eyes  to  make  a  light 
Where  they  would  rest.     He  loves  this  day  as  I  do^. 
Yet  I  had  stayed  this  busking  marriage 
Had  not  my  brothers  pressed  me  to  such  haste 
And  peace  not  waited  on  it.     Think,  dear  maidens, 
Peace  everywhere!    Avesta  safe  and  free, 
And  Oswald's  sword  in  sheath — 

What  is  that  chanting? 

Gaina.  [Looking  from  parapet]  A  train  comes  up  the 
heights. 

Mylitta.  The  English  Lords! 

[Enter  Barca,  left] 

Ard.  Barca,  who  comes? 

Barca.  Prince  Banissat,  my  lady, 

With  all  his  court  attending. 

Mirimond.  Banissat ! 

This  is  a  Christian  wedding. 

Ard.  We  are  at  peace. 

Barca.  He  brings  you  gifts.     Your  brothers  go  to  meet 
him. 

Ard.  Where  is  Lord  Bertrand? 

Barca.  Near  at  hand.     He  comes 

This  way.     [Exit  Barca,  left] 

Ard.      My  girls,  wouldst  see  what  dainties  lie 
In  yonder  chamber? 


K  I  D  M  I  R  291 

Mylitta.  Nay,  we'll  wait. 

Ard.  Moonstones 

For  golden  hair — crescents  and  amber  stars 
For  tresses  dark 

Girls.  O!  0! 

Ard.  Veils  of  spun  silver 

[Maidens  buzz  through  door  right] 

Ard.  Go,  give  them  all ! 

Gaina.  All,  mistress?     Not 

Ard.  Go,  go! 

[Exit  Gaina.     Bertrand  enters,  left.     He  is  in  princely 
costume] 

Ber.  Art  found,  my  heaven? 

Ard.  Thou  'st  not  a  fear  thy  Heaven 

Is  lost  in  me? 

Ber.  A  doubt  were  my  soul's  shame. 

[Points  up  the  heights] 
Does  not  yon  giant  cross  arise  to  say 
Christ  reigns  on  Kidmir?     Far  as  Suli  plain 
Men  see  the  sun  upon  its  silver  sides 
And  hands  upborne  in  prayer  forget  the  sword 
That  sleeps  unwakened. 

Ard.  Will  it  sleep  for  long? 

Ber.  Ay,  else  your  father's  death  were  devils'  sport, 
Not  Heaven's  will. 

Ard.  What  word  to-day  from  Oswald? 

Ber.  You  name  him? 

Ard.  Is  he  not  our  father? 

Ber.  O, 

God's  angel  thou,  not  mine! 

Ard.  Does  Biondel 

Now  wear  the  crown  of  lion? 

Ber.  That's  confirmed. 

And  Vigard  has  Ramoor. 

Ard.  They  profit  much 

By  their  new  faith. 


292  K  I  D  M  I  R 

Ber.  Do  they  not  spare  my  life? 

So  Oswald  gives  these  crowns.     You  think  he  pays 
Too  dear? 

Ard.       O,  barest  alms!     I'd  have  the  earth, 
No  less, — then  want  the  sun, — ay,  circling  heaven, 
And  yet  be  beggared  losing  thee !     But  they 
Must  wear  their  purple  o'er  a  Christian  heart. 
I  would  not  doubt  .  .  .  and  yet.  .  .  . 

Ber.  They  are  the  sons 

Of  Charilus. 

Ard.          And  Banissat? 

Ber.  He  vows 

An  endless  peace  with  Suli. 
.  Ard.  And  you  are  Suli. 

Why  am  I  fearful,  knowing  doubt  is  death? 

Ber.  Come,  love,  look  down — nay,  farther,  toward  the 

sea. 

That  sprawling  mass  that  darkens  now  the  plain, 
Seeming  to  hugely  breathe  and  cloud-like  move, 
Is  Oswald's  army  making  feast  to-day, 
For  I,  the  prince,  go  wiving.     Now  I  seem 
To  hear  our  names  joined  high  in  Heaven's  air, 
And  Christ,  too,  listens  smiling,  knowing  one  land, 
One  throne  is  his  forever.     Sweet,  'twas  he 
Drew  me  from  sheltered  cell  and  flowered  garth 
To  be  his  sovereign  servant.     He  it  was 
Who  called  through  you,  who  cried  in  Charilus'  death 
To  wake  my  soul  that  shall  not  sleep  again 
Till  Love  has  garnered  all  these  eastern  lands. 

Ard.  Amen,  my  husband-knight!     I  am  content 
To  be  your  love  next  Christ.     Within  your  heart 
'Twill  be  sweet  gleaning  where  he  walks  before. 

Ber.  These  words  be  your  sole  dower,  for  they  hold 
More  sun  for  me  than  shining  gold ! 

Ard.  The  guests! 

Do  you  not  hear  them?   Leave  me  now,  my  lord. 


K  I  D  M  I  R  293 

Ber.  Thank  patience  and  my  stars,  we  reach  the  end 
Of  these  stale  ceremonies!     Seven  days 
Of  long,  superfluous  rites  to  make  you  mine 
When  our  first  kiss  did  wed  us! 

Ard.  [Mocking]  So  ungentle 

To  your  proud  honors,  sir?     Nay,  it  is  fit 
Your  wedding  be  as  famous  as  your  name, 
O,  Prince  of  Suli! 

[Voices  heard,  left] 
Go,  to  come  again! 
[Exit  Bertrand,  right.     Ardia  turns  to  enter  her  room  and 

faces  Vigard  who  comes  on  left.     She  draws  her  veil] 
Vig.  Stay,  sister. 

Ard.  Would  you  have  me  seen? 

Vig.  [Throws  back  her  veil]  Art  fair 

Again?    As  Kidmir  skies! 

Ard.  It  is  my  joy. 

[Enter  left,  Biondel,  Banissat,  and  lords.    Banissat  pauses. 

The  others  pass  off,  right] 

Vig.  [Taking  Ardia  s  hand  to  detain  her]  We  have  sur- 
prised our  sister. 

Ban.  Blest  the  hour! 

Now  may  I  lay  this  gift  within  her  hand — 
Poor  gift,  that  has  no  worth  until  that  hand 
Caresses  it  to  splendor. 

[Kneels,  offering  her  a  small  packet] 
Ard.  [Taking  packet]  Courteous  prince, 
My  thanks.     And  more  than  thanks  that  you  should 

climb 

Kidmir's  uneasy  steep  to  dearly  grace 
This  day — for  smiles  of  friends,  more  than  fair  gifts, 
Do  best  adorn  my  bridal.     [Draws  her  veil  and  moves  right] 

Ban.  Night  is  come, 

And  through  her  mist  the  stars!     [Exit  Ardia] 


294  K I D  M  I R 

Vig.  Her  bloom  is  washed 

Somewhat  with  tears  for  Charilus,  but  she 
Will  flower  again. 

Ban.  Now  by  the  Prophet's  soul 

He  who  has  kissed  her  lips  had  better  've  kissed 
A  flame  of  hell  than  so  have  touched 
What  shall  be  mine! 

Vig.  As  thou  dost  love  revenge, 

Be  patient. 

Ban.       Patience  to  the  ox,  to  beasts 
That  dream  'twixt  cud  and  whip!    Am  I  not  man? 

Vig.  You  have  endured,  by  truth. 

Ban.  Endured! 

Vig.  And  now 

Revenge !     Ere  night  yon  braggart  cross  shall  bear 
A  burden  that  will  start  Earl  Oswald's  eyes 
When  he  looks  up  from  Suli  plain. 

Ban.  This  day 

Shall  see  it!     Come,  once  more  let  us  look  down. 
See  where  the  hosts  of  Allah  charge  upon 
The  sottish  infidel!     All  yet  is  well. 
The  banner  o'er  Avesta  signals  still 
The  Prophet  wins! 

Vig.  And  when  the  tower  of  Suli 

Gleams  with  the  hoisted  crescent,  we  shall  know 
Oswald  is  taken. 

Ban.                 Ha!  There's  no  way  out! 
The  powers  of  lion,  Avesta,  and  Ramoor, 
Pen  him  in  bloody  triangle.     Old  rat, 
You're  in  the  trap !     I  should  be  there,  not  here, — 
There  at  his  throat 

Vig.  Nay,  here,  my  lord,  you'll  have 

Your  dearest  triumph.     Please  you  now,  go  in. 
I'll  watch  here  for  the  sign. 


K  I  D  M  I  R  295 

Ban.  Your  watch  be  short. 

[Exit,  right.     Re-enter  Ardia] 

Ard.  [Holding  out  a  flaming  ornament]  Brother,  see  this! 

The  jewel  of  the  house 
Of  Banissat.     'Tis  sacred  to  his  name. 
I  cannot  take  it,  and  he  dare  not  give  it. 

Vig.  It  seems  he  dared. 

Ard.  What  does  he  mean,  dear  Vigard? 

Vig.  To  honor  Suli's  princess  as  most  fit. 

Ard.  I  tremble  still  from  his  deep  look  of  fire, 
And  when  I  saw  this  burn  methought  his  eye 
Was  yet  upon  me. 

Vig.  Fool,  go  to  your  maidens! 

[Enter  Barca,  left,  with  Ramunin] 

Vig.  You're  late,  my  man. 

Ram.  And  yet  in  season,  sir.     [Points  up  the  heights] 
The  cross  is  bare. 

Vig.  Get  you  within. 

[Exeunt  Barca  and  Ramunin,  left] 
Now,  sister — 
What,  do  you  faint? 

Ard.  That  face!    Ramunin's  face. 

I  saw  it  once,  and  shuddered  many  a  day 
Remembering  it.     The  public  crucifier, 
Who  serves  the  bloody  prince  of  Antioch. 
The  same.     What  does  he  here  upon  this  day 
Of  all  the  days  of  time? 

Vig.  'Tis  by  your  wish 

That  Kidmir  gates  are  open. 

Ard.  And  by  yours. 

Vig.  Ay,  let  the  world  be  witness  you  are  made 
The  honored  bride  of  Suli. 

Ard.  But  Ramunin? 

He  said  the  cross  was  bare.     Why  such  a  jest 


296  K I  D  M  I R 

As  horrid  as  his  life?  [Looking  out]  And  all  the  knights 
That  were  to  come  from  Oswald — where  are  they? 

Vig.  They  drank  too  deep  last  night  for  journeying 
Up  Kidmir  road — or  else  they  dare  not  cross 
This  outraged  portal. 

Ard.  Have  we  not  forgiven? 

Ah,  what  is  there?     Look,  Vigard,  do  you  see? 
A  floating  crescent ! 

Vig.  Where? 

Ard.  O'er  Suli  tower. 

O,  this  is  Oswald's  greeting  to  our  house, 
Better  than  any  band  of  armed  knights! 
He  lifts  the  Prophet's  banner  to  his  towers, 
Even  as  you  set  the  Savior's  crucifix 
On  Kidmir!    Now  the  one  eternal  God 
Lives  in  his  sign  when  cross  and  crescent  smile 
Love-set  in  the  same  heaven! 

Vig.  Allah  be  praised ! 

Ard.  And  Christ— forget  not  Christ! 
Vig.  We'll  make  an  end  now. 

[Exit,  right] 

Ard.  An  end?  Am  I  a  bride — or  sacrifice? 
[Goes  in,  right,  at  sound  of  approaching  music.  Enter, 
left,  young  musicians  playing  flutes  and  harps.  They 
pause  before  altar,  cross  to  right  and  seat  themselves 
about  Ardia9s  door.  Guests  enter,  filling  rear  of  hall, 
and  parapet.  A  maiden  comes  on,  dancing  the  grain- 
dance  and  scattering  sesame.  At  the  close  of  dance,  Ar- 
dia's  maidens  enter,  each  bearing  a  lighted  candle  which 
she  places  on  the  altar.  A  Greek  chant  is  heard  as 
priest  approaches  left.  All  wait  his  entrance,  and  the 
curtain  falls,  rising  again  on  the  close  of  the  ceremony. 
Bertrand  and  Ardia  stand  centre.  'An  aged  priest  at 
altar.  Biondel  and  Banissat  conspicuous  among  the 
guests.  Vigard  not  seen] 


K  I  D  M  I R  297 

Bion.  Is  all  now  done? 

Priest.  All  's  done.    The  spouse  of  Suli 

May  bow  herself  unto  her  master's  feet, 
Bespeaking  so  the  love  that  has  no  wish 
But  service,  no  desire  save  her  lord's  will. 

[As  Ardia  would  kneel,  Bertrand  prevents  her] 

Ber.  You  shall  not  kneel. 

Ard.  Tis  custom,  dear  my  lord. 

Ber.  Then  here  it  dies. 

Ard.  My  mother  did  so  much 

For  him  who  made  her  wife. 

Ber.  Thy  knees  shall  bend 

To  God,  and  to  none  less.     Reign  at  my  side, 
Princess  of  Suli,  not  my  feet. 

Bion.  We  hail 

The  bride  of  Suli! 

Guests.  Bride  of  Suli,  hail! 

Vig.  [Unseen]  Ho!     Seize  the  traitor!     Ho! 

[Enter  Ramunin,  right,  and  armed  guards] 

Ber.  Who  speaks?     And  who 

Is  traitor  here? 

Vig.  Thou,  foulest  murderer! 

Ber.  Who  speaks? 

Vig.  Dead  Charilus. 

Ard.  Tis  Vigard's  voice. 

[Vigard  steps  forth] 

What,  Vigard,  art  thou  mad?     Wouldst  shatter  the  globe 
Of  Heaven? 

Vig.        Nay,  it  was  broken  that  same  hour 
When  died  our  father. 

Ber.  Son  of  Charilus,  speak 

Your  will.     If  you  demand  my  life,  'tis  yours. 
I  hold  it  by  your  gentle  lease  and  love. 
But  while  I  ask  not  one  poor  breath  for  me, 
I  beg  you  pause,  nor  cast  the  innocent 


298  K I D  M  I R 

To  feed  the  vengeful  and  life-reaping  fire 
Oswald  will  kindle  for  his  hapless  son. 

Vig.  You  think  no  fires  will  burn  but  of  his  kindling? 

Ard.  O  shame!    The  crescent  over  Suli  greets 
The  cross  on  Kidmir! 

Vig.  Ay,  the  crescent  flies 

From  Suli,  thanks  to  faithful  Moslem  hands 
That  set  it  there. 

Ard.  Ah  ....  Moslem  hands? 

Vig.  You  fool, 

To  think  that  Oswald  fluttered  compliments, 
When  he  was  dreaming  how  he'd  bid  you  drink 
Of  that  same  cup  he  gave  to  Charilus ! 

Ban.  Now,  dearest  lady,  you  are  safe.     To-day 
The  Faithful  battled  with  the  infidel, 
And  that  bright  crescent  is  the  silent  sign 
We  have  the  victory.     Ramoor  and  lion 
With  pointed  sword  bore  down  on  either  side 
The  glutted,  drunken  army,  while  in  front 
Avesta  like  a  whirlwind  swept 

Ard.  O,  traitor! 

You  vowed  unbroken  peace  with  Suli! 

Ban.  Yea, 

Will  keep  it  too,  for  I  am  Suli  now. 

Ard.  [To  her  brothers]  Were  you  not  sworn  to  Christ? 

Bion.  We  are  the  Prophet's. 

Ard.  O,  Heaven,  hear  not  this !    And  Oswald's  knights? 

Vig.  Sleep  in  Avesta's  dungeons. 

Bion.  Banissat, 

Avesta's  golden  prince,  speak  you  the  doom 
Of  Bertrand 

Ard.  Doom?    O 

Ber.  Do  not  waste  the  breath 

A  kiss  may  save.     A  thousand  times,  your  lips! 

Ard.  [To  Biondel]  Let  him  not  die! 


K  I  D  M  I R  299 

Vig.  You'll  pray  soon  that  he  may! 
Speak,  noble  prince. 

Ban.  I,  lord  of  conquered  Suli, 

Condemn  the  son  of  Oswald  unto  death 
By  crucifixion.     Be  his  body  nailed 
Upon  the  cross  now  raised  on  Kidmir  peak, 
That  Oswald  may  behold  his  groaning  son, 
And  every  Christian  dog  look  up  and  see 
How  dies  the  Prophet's  enemy. 
[To  Ramunin]  Away! 

Prick  him  with  delicate  tortures  that  yet  leave 
Him  heart  to  heave  his  agony.     Hear  you ! 
If  he  live  not  three  days  upon  the  cross 
Yourself  shall  hang  beside  him. 

Ram.  I've  a  hand 

Has  had  some  practice,  sir. 

Ban.  We  know  it,  fellow, 

And  therefore  we  employ  you. 

Ram.  I  put  the  nails 

In  young  Deobus,  he  who  hung  five  days 
'Twixt  heaven  and  earth,  and  to  the  fifth  eve  groaned 
As  he  would  pull  his  heart  up.     I've  a  medal 
Struck  by  the  city  for  it. 

Ban.  I  will  match  it, 

If  you  match  me  the  service. 

Ram.  That  I'll  do. 

These  English  have  strong  hearts — will  suck  at  Pain 
As  life  were  in  her  dugs. 

[Exit  Ramunin,  guards,  and  Bertrand.     Priest  and  guests 
follow.     The  maidens  huddle  at  door,  right] 

Bion.  Sister,  you  stare 

Too  hardly  on  this  grief.     It  is  a  woe 
That  Heaven  smiles  on,  and  the  cure  now  waits 
In  Banissat's  fair  mercy.     You  shall  be 
His  royal  wife,  and  Suli's  princess  still. 


300  K  I  D  M  I R 

Vig.  Speak  to  the  prince. 

Ban.                                   Nay,  let  her  hear  my  vow. 
O,  star  of  Kidmir,  dear  and  beautiful, 
I'll  set  thee  in  a  bosom  that  shall  be 
A  tender  heaven  round  thee.     Beat  to  earth 
Is  murmurous  suspicion,  and  again 
You  shine  unto  the  world,  swept  free  of  taint 
By  noble  marriage  with  most  careful  rites 

Ard.  I  doubt,  I  doubt!     One  part,  one  point,  one  rite, 
Broken  in  act,  left  gaping  and  divided, 
One  half  performed,  one  half  left  all  undone, 
Leaves  me  dishonored  still.     She  is  not  widowed 
Who  was  not  wife 

Vig.  All's  done !     What  more  canst  wish? 

Ard.  To  lay  my  forehead  on  my  husband's  feet, 
Which  by  the  ancient  custom  of  our  house 
Is  maidhood's  closing  act,  as  'tis  the  first 
Of  wifehood  true.     This  thou  wilt  grant 

Vig.  You're  bound 

By  rites  enough! 

Bion.  Canst  stand  uncertain  on 

So  slight  a  matter? 

Ard.  Slight?    Ah,  you  know  naught 

Of  woman!    Teach  him,  prince,  that  not  a  nick, 
Or  turn,  or  shade  of  custom  would  she  spare 
From  this  most  holy  ceremony.     Wanting  but 
The  smallest  portion  that  gives  leave  to  say 
The  measure  lacks,  she  all  her  life  will  grieve, 
Shed  secret  tears,  and  wear  a  blanchen  face 
When  none  knows  why. 

Bion.  You  shall  not  move  us.     Peace! 

Vig.  A  brawling  fancy! 

Ard.  Avesta's  prince,  thou  who 

Shalt  be  my  lord,  if  any  lord  of  earth 
Be  mine  again,  wouldst  have  my  love,  or  hate? 


K  I  D  M  I R  301 

Ban.  Thy  love,  fair  Ardia. 

Ard.  Then  I  pray  you,  sir, 

Move  thy  forbearance  yet  one  farther  step 
And  pluck  this  boon  for  me.     'Tis  near  thy  hand, 
And  O,  how  small  a  thing  for  you  to  give, 
But  as  the  sun  of  all  my  days  to  me! 
Without  it  I  may  die 

Ban.  Speak  not  of  death.     So  sweet 

I'll  shelter  thee,  Death's  self  must  bloom 
If  he  creep  near  thy  bower. 

Ard.  May  I,  my  lord, 

Keep  honored  place  by  thee  when  memory  mocks 
That  place  and  honor?     Grant  me  this,  but  this, 
And  here  I  swear  if  any  act  of  man 
May  move  a  widowed  heart,  mine  shall  grow  warm 
To  thee! 

Ban.  Do  you  speak  truth? 

Ard.  Believe  me,  sir, 

So  dear  a  thing  is  this  for  which  I  sue, 
That  he  who  gives  it  must  grow  dear  thereby; 
And  if  he  lift  to  him  my  prostrate  life, 
This  gentle  moment  shall  immortal  be 
And  sweeten  every  hour  we  pass  together. 
Remembering  this,  my  captive  breast  shall  be 
His  free  dominion,  and  my  lips  on  his, 
If  they  know  warmth,  shall  take  it  from  this  cause, 
This  first  dear  tenderness. 

Ban.  We'll  please  you,  mistress. 

Bring  in  the  man  again. 

[Exit  a  guard] 

Vig.  I  beg  you,  prince 

Ban.  By  Allah,  she  shall  have  her  beggar  wish, 
For  no  more  reason  than  she  wishes  it ! 

Vig.  It  is  her  sickish  humor,  sir,  to  look 
On  him  again.  All  this  wild  pother  means 
No  more  than  that. 


302  K  I  D  M  I  R 

Ban.  No  more?     We'll  please  her  then 
For  our  good  peace  to  come. 

Bion.  A  princely  kindness. 

[They  talk  together.     Ardia  crosses  to  altar] 

Ard.  Now  one  more  miracle!     God  live  in  me, 
And  Christ  direct  my  hand! 

Bion.  What  do  you  say, 

My  sister? 

Ard.  But  a  word  to  mine  own  heart. 

Ban.  Nay,  mine  now,  is  it  not? 

Ard.  So  much  of  it 

As  dearest  lenience  may  buy,  my  lord. 

[Bertrand  is  brought  in  guarded] 

Bion.  The  man  is  here.     Now  have  your  foolish  will. 

[Ardia  turns  and  looks  at  Bertrand.  He  is  stripped  of  his 
rich  dress  and  wears  only  a  girdled  tunic  falling  to  his 
knees.  Arms  and  feet  are  bare] 

Ban.  [To  Bertrand]  Sir,  we  permit  the  lady  of  our  soul 
To  end  as  her  heart  wills  the  rite  that  makes 
Her  wife  and  widow.     Touch  her  not,  nor  speak. 
[Bertrand  crosses  to  altar] 

Ard.  Why  should  we  touch,  when  souls  inhabit  eyes 
And  journey  on  a  look?     My  heaven-lord, 
Here  is  no  priest  to  bless  this  act  of  mine, 
But  God  will  know  his  altar  and  the  gift 
I  lay  upon  it.     The  life  we  thought  to  live — 
That  might  have  failed,  and  killed  the  dream  now  safe 
From  tarnish  of  the  days.     Earth  has  enough 
Of  blind  and  baffled  lives,  but  great  her  need 
Of  dreams.     And  ours  we  leave  with  her,  unworn, 
Unpaled,  warm  round  the  love-seed  she  shall  nurse 
To  million-budded  life. 

Bion.  Come,  make  an  end! 

Ard.  An  end  of  love?     The  God  of  all  the  worlds 
Cannot  do  that.     Love  born  this  darkest  day 


K I D  M  I R  303 

Shall  be  in  flower  on  man's  millennial  path 
And  touch  his  step  with  Heaven. 

Vig.  Peace!    Be  done! 

Ard.  Ay  .  .  done.    My  lord,  think  thou  art  in  the 

world 
Celestial,  and  from  there  smile  on  me — now — 

[Draws  dagger  from  her  bosom  and  stabs  him.     He  falls] 
High  God,  as  thou  art  Love,  I  struck  for  thee! 

[Bends  over  body] 

True  aim.     Full  in  the  heart.     I  know  the  place, 
For  there  my  home  is — there  I  live — and  now 
My  house  is  down,  I,  too,  must  fall 

Ban.  I'll  pay  thee! 

What  hast  thou  done? 

Ard.  What  done?    A  miracle! 
Who  now  can  harm  my  love? 

Ban.  Your  promises! 

Your  oaths ! 

Ard.          I'd  keep  them,  sir — ay,  every  one, 
If  grief  would  let  me  live  to  be  your  wife. 
But  I  am  weary,  and  my  heavy  stars 
Have  left  their  skies  to  hang  upon  me  here. 
My  veins  are  empty,  all  their  strength  is  out. 
Does  't  take  so  much  to  lift  this  little  blade 
And  let  it  fall  again? 

[Biondel  takes  the  dagger  from  her] 

Think  you  I  need 

So  poor  a  thing?     Nay,  God  has  struck  for  me, 
As  I  for  Him.     I  go  with  Vairdelan.     [Kneels  by  body] 
Look  on  this  brow,  if  shame  will  let  ye  look. 
An  angel  shaped  it.     Ye've  unfashioned  here 
The  work  of  Heaven.     Sweet  lips,  no  roses  left? 
Your  hand,  my  lord,  and  now  the  sinless  star.     [Dies] 

[Curtain] 


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